The Road Not Taken
by really.need.a.hobby
Summary: Almost twenty years after Julie broke up with her first love to see what other adventures the world held, a Duck reunion gives her an intimate look into the path she nearly took. A sequel to Not What Could Have Been.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: A sincere thank you to the roughly five people who read _Not What Could Have Been_ , particularly Matt/GrownUp90's. Matt, your commentary was an incredible help and inspiration!

Initially, _Not What Could Have Been_ was meant to be the sole glimpse into the present, but, as a lifelong Adam Banks fan myself, I just couldn't bear to let his story end the way it did. Not that this story ends with everybody riding into the sunset to live happily ever after, but I like to think this one will be at least 20% less depressing.

Also, standard disclaimer: Obviously I don't own any of this stuff. If I did, I wouldn't be slaving away in a corporate office for five zillion hours a week to pay for things that I don't even like.

* * *

"No, Mr. Smith. Your family care physician may _have_ told you that you need to eat every hour, but if so, I'm afraid he was mistaken…."

 _Say hello to your friends_

 _Babysitters Club_

For the last fifteen minutes, as the other doctors and nurses had scurried about the 5th floor cardiac care unit, going about their busy days, Julie had sat at the bedside of a 450 lb. diabetic, _trying_ to explain that he did not need to eat a sandwich every hour, on the hour.

Particularly not ice cream sandwiches.

Unfortunately, as she watched the corpulent Mr. Smith reach over for a bucket of fried chicken, she realized that her advice was falling on deaf ears.

 _Say hello to the pe-ople who care_

 _Babysitters Club_

Taking a bite of a chicken leg, Mr. Smith continued, scrumbles of fried batter falling from his mouth as he spoke.

"I'll get low blood sugar. You can die from that, you know. I knew a guy from church that died that way—"

 _Nothing's better than friends_

 _Babysitters Club_

"I understand, sir. That's why it's important to _monitor_ your blood sugar. There's no need to eat unless the glucose monitor says it's low."

 _Welcome to BSC Super Special #119. Dr. Julie and the Inability to Delegate to Nurses_.

"Look Miss, I'm just tryna' be provacative here. I don't want to mess with my health or nothing."

 _Yeah. Yeah, that would be a real shame_.

Glancing down at her pager, she briefly contemplated what she'd ever done in life to deserve such a fate.

 _Become a doctor, they said. It'll be really interesting and rewarding, they said._

Memories of lying to her mother about who broke the lamp and how mud got tracked across the kitchen all danced through her mind; a lifetime of minor transgressions having finally come to roost. Mentally, she made a note to start being more regular with her trips to confession, a few extra Hail Marys surely preferable to a lifetime of Mr. Smiths.

Mr. Smiths _and_ fried chicken scrumbles.

 **…...**

Nine hours later, Julie finally found herself back at home.

Walking into the gleaming high-rise condo, the first thing she noticed was the smell of bad Chinese leftovers. Walking over to the kitchen, she noticed a trail of ants marching their way across the black granite, all seeking the mecca of day old General Tso's that she'd accidentally left out the night before.

 _So much for dinner tonight_.

Too exhausted to cook, and decidedly no longer in the mood for Chinese, she poured herself a bowl of cereal before collapsing down onto the couch. Pulling out her phone, she finally took the time to look through her slog of missed calls and texts, courtesy of an 18-hour shift spent without her gold iPhone.

 _Junk call. Junk call. Bank draft reminder. Mom. Junk call. More mom._

Julie sighed, cursing her mother's lack of outside interests. After 27 years of baking casseroles and shuffling kids to hockey practice, Mary Ann Gaffney had found herself at a complete loss for what to do once her youngest son left home. Eager to fill the void, she'd become a prolific texter and Facebooker, using every medium she could to tell her adult children about who she saw at the grocery store or what random project she saw on Pinterest that she wanted to try.

Almost ready to set her phone back down and get some much needed sleep, she noticed one voicemail that looked worth listening to.

A voicemail from the one guy under the age of 50 who still made actual phone calls on occasion.

"Hey Jules—

Curling up with her cream-colored wool blanket, Julie found herself smiling at the familiar Minnesota accent. "It's Adam. Obviously. I was just calling to see if you were planning on going to Guy's retirement party. I mean, obviously you don't have to. I don't even know if I am, but if you do, I just wanted to let you know you'd be more than welcome to stay at our house. Or not. I just, you know, I wanted you to know you were invited, and that we have an extra guest room if you'd like. Anyway, I hope you're doing well…"

Glancing back at her phone to check the time, Julie waffled for a moment, trying to decide whether it was appropriate to call at 9 o'clock at night. Hesitating, she finally pressed the little blue pictogram of a telephone, unable to resist an excuse to hear back from her favorite Midwesterner.

Listening to the dial tone, she stared out the window at the glimmering Boston skyline in front of her, thinking back to the times the two of them had snuck up to Mr. Banks' downtown Minneapolis office, and all of the long conversations they'd had as the city twinkled below.

* * *

" _You can always get a hotel."_ Julie reminded herself, her heart racing as she took in another deep breath of re-circulated plane air. _"The Holiday Inn has plenty of rooms…"_

 _._

Before she'd gotten on the plane, she'd checked. Twice.

.

After an exhausting eighteen-hour shift, the thought of a long weekend in Edina had sounded lovely, the mere thought of her friend's taste in sheets enough to sell her on the idea. In the weary haze of sleep deprivation and nostalgia, three nights with her favorite sandy haired hockey player and an endless buffet of off-brand breakfast cereal and $4 wine had seemed like a cure to all of life's ills.

In the fresh light of morning, however, the idea's flaws were a bit more apparent.

After all, it was _not_ 1998 anymore.

In her thoughts, she could still see the white Tiffany platter that showed up at her door a few days before her med school graduation; the loopy cursive in a card attached explaining that Adam was unwell, but that he surely sent his love. She could see the embarrassing viral video of a well-heeled junkie getting his ass handed to him by a 300 lb. Occupy protester, and the photo that appeared on the cover of The New York Times a year later, of him being led from the courthouse in a wheelchair, unable to walk with his hands cuffed behind his back.

For weeks, that picture in particular had haunted her.

At night when she closed her eyes, she'd see a visibly pregnant Laura and their two boys stoically looking on in the background; all of them in perfectly ironed Brooks Brothers outfits and Ferragamo accessories. She'd see the confused looks on the faces of both boys, the younger one clutching a worn teddy bear, and the way that everyone was dressed in crisp, neatly coordinated navies and whites, as if they believed that good tailoring and clean lines could make everything better. She'd think of the complete deadness in Adam's eyes as the bailiff helped him make his descent; yesteryear's fiercely independent forward having lost the last morsel of control.

.

Of course, she could also see all of the Christmas newsletters that arrived every year in toile or tartan lined envelopes, filled with sunny paragraphs about trips to BVI and bird watching and baking cookies with the kids. The photos on Facebook of a happy, wholesome family building snowmen and chaperoning team campouts; Adam and Laura always looking as though they could go meet up with The British Royal Family for an impromptu pheasant hunt if need be.

.

As she dug through her purse for her chapstick, she tried to reconcile all of those competing images, pursing their conversation on the phone two weeks earlier for clues.

He'd _sounded_ good. He'd _sounded_ like the boy she'd fallen for at thirteen, offering to let her borrow his parents as they sat together on a southern California pier.

.

Of course, she also knew that was part of the problem. That he was _good_ at sounding good.

Many a times, she'd thought back to the familiar rattle of pill bottles in his desk drawer and the "accident" his freshman year, wondering what clues she'd missed. How long the writing had been on the wall, hidden behind a pleasant pastiche.

.

 _Shit_.

The sharp point of a comb finding its way under her fingernail, the search for chapstick was abandoned as Julie cursed the stupid piece of plastic, amazed at how much pain a $.50 comb could inflict.

 _Sinead O'Connor had the right idea_.

Setting her purse back down, she tried to shake all of the worries from her head, reminding herself instead how nice it would be to see the rest of the Ducks again.

She thought about how she'd finally get to catch up with Connie, and give Charlie a hard time about coaching at the same school he'd spent four years whining about. She made a note to congratulate Ken and his wife on the new baby, and Russ on the promotion at work, and Luis on his second marriage.

She also thought of how ironic it was that the least noticed Duck was the only one whose pro dreams ever came true. About how the two debaucherous Bash Brothers were now balding men who spent the weekends following their wives around Pottery Barn; Portman working in middle management for a company that made telephone poles, and Fulton having found his calling as a junior high principal. She thought of Averman's comparably glamorous life as a software developer in California, and of course, she thought of the quiet forward who all of the newspapers hyped as the next Gretsky.

" _They were wrong about that."_ She thought to herself _. "He was going to be better_."


	2. Knight in Tinfoil

June, 1994

"Is everything okay?"

Julie jumped, startled by the sudden interruption.

She had been sitting alone on the pier, lost in thought. Thinking about the fact that back in Maine, her parents were having their annual First Day of Summer party. She could almost hear the sizzle of hamburgers on the grill and her brothers laughing with their friends, the scent of pine trees and tanning oil and charcoal all wafting through the air.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! I'll leave you alone." A soft spoken boy apologized, turning back around to walk towards the shore, his shoulders slumped.

 _Adam?_

"Hey, come back here! You don't have to leave, you just startled me."

Suddenly, her preppy teammate perked right back up and rejoined her, sitting down beside her on the weathered bench, his long legs sprawled awkwardly out in front of him.

"What's up?"

"Oh uh, nothing. Sorry, you just looked kind of lonely out here, so I thought I'd make sure everything was okay. I shouldn't have, though. I didn't mean to disrupt whatever you were doing."

"Quit being silly!" She smiled, placing a delicate hand on his toned, sunkissed arm. "You didn't disrupt anything. I was just sitting out here watching the waves."

"Okay. Well, if you want to watch the waves alone, I understand."

"I'd rather watch them with you."

"Oh, alright then. Thanks."

"So…is everything alright?" He finally asked a moment later, the sound of the water lapping against the shoreline in the background.

Looking over at the gifted forward, she suddenly noticed how blue his eyes were.

Before, she'd always been too busy trying to block his shots to pay any attention to _him_ , but now that he was right there next to her, she noticed that his eyes perfectly matched the ocean below, right down to their sparkle that mirrored the sun's reflection.

"Oh yeah, I was just thinking about home. I think this is the longest I've ever been away from my parents, and I'm _almost_ starting to miss them."

"Well," He gently chuckled. "If you get to missing them too much, you can always borrow my dad! Because as much as I wish he'd give me a chance to miss him, he totally insisted on coming."

"Oh man…"

"Yeah, if you want the full dad experience, he's here and ready to help. I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you all about his glory days and how he used to score 7,000 goals a game. Pretty impressive for an overweight chain smoker, if you really stop to think about it."

"Definitely. With a dad _that_ talented, no wonder you're so good!"

For another hour, the two sat against the weathered bench together, watching the seagulls dive down to the water below.

Having grown up with three brothers, Julie was used to boys—they'd filled every moment of her life since birth, always there to share unwanted fart jokes and wrestle one another over the last slice of pizza.

This one, though, was different.

* * *

"Jules?"

His soft voice cutting through buzz of the airport terminal, it seemed as if the outside world faded away, the throngs of cranky families and weary business travelers all disappearing from mind.

.

The severe suits and cold expressions that had been immortalized in the Times and Wall Street Journal were nowhere to be found, replaced instead with the loyal preppy of her happier memories. Standing there in a blue tattersall shirt and light summery chinos, it was clear that the man standing in front of her was _him_. Wonderfully, fabulously, _him_.

There were a few more lines around his lovely baby blues than there had been at his wedding fifteen years prior, and the first strands of grey were starting to show in his sandy hair. The pale scar across his cheek from a fight his senior year had now been joined by an extra bump in his nose, and after almost two decades, it _still_ seemed profoundly unfair that the guy who once brought such power and precision to the ice now struggled with a cane.

Still, from the smile that consumed his entire face down to the engraved signet ring and salt stained driving loafers, he was the same boy she remembered. The same sweet prom king with whom she'd slow danced to Green Day's _Time of Your Life_ so many years before.

Standing there, she struggled for words as she took it all in, her mind trying to grasp that he was _back_ ; her prep school prom king was right there beside her, in all of his delightful glory.

* * *

 _May, 2000_

 _Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road  
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go_

The air in the ballroom of the country club smelled of the end of an era-Acqua di Gio, Clinique Happy, and contraband Zima all mixed together, giving the room a distinctly 90's fragrance that everybody still took for granted. Outside, the parking lot was filled with rented limousines and borrowed BMWs, while inside, the dance floor was packed with boys in rented satin bow ties and girls in glittery Jessica McClintock dresses, all doing their best to tie up the loose ends of the last four years.

There, in the middle of the dance floor, a spotlight shone on the newly crowned prom king as he held his beloved date in his arms, their bodies slowly swaying back and forth in perfect harmony to the ubiquitous Green Day song.

 _So make the best of this test, and don't ask why  
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time_

"I can't believe this is going to be over in two more weeks." Julie said softly, her face buried against the shoulder of Adam's expensive tuxedo jacket as they slowly danced back and forth, her body temporarily one with his as the song played on.

"It doesn't have to be."

His voice was tinged with sadness as he pulled her in even closer.

She was close enough to feel all of the familiar contours of his hockey toned body—a body that she knew _very_ well after four years. Wrapped in the safe confines of his arms, she briefly wondered if she was making the right choice.

She loved him. She wanted so badly to be with him. There was a piece of her that wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him.

There was a bigger piece of her, however, that wanted Dartmouth. That wanted medical school. That wanted a chance to follow her own dreams. That wanted something bigger than being a NHL wife with a big house and four impeccably dressed kids.

Their dreams weren't compatible, and she knew it.

"It does."

She struggled to hold back tears as he gently lifted her chin with his finger to bring her soft lips to his. She looked up into his watery blue eyes, and then up at the cheap plastic crown atop his head. She knew she was hurting him on what was supposed to be his special night, and it took all of the self-control she had not to scream "Forget Dartmouth! Forget medical school! Of course I want to marry you, Adam Wailes Talbott Banks! Lets leave right now and catch the first flight to Vegas before we can have second thoughts!"

But she didn't.

 _So take the photographs, and still-frames in your mind  
Hang it on the shelf of good health and good time_

"Well then" he whispered, his arms wrapped around the waist of her sparkly light blue dress, "we might as well make the most of the time we do have."

 _It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right  
I hope you had the time of your life_

* * *

"You know," Julie finally blurted out, looking down at the cane and slight limp with sympathy, "you did _not_ have to walk all this way!"

 _Really mouth? That's what you decide to go with?_

No sooner had the words left her mouth, she found herself wishing that the earth would swallow her whole, allowing her to escape the faux pas.

After all, she was quite certain that was _not_ the way to greet one's long lost best friend…especially not when said best friend was grown man, surely capable of figuring out for himself whether or not he was up to walking across an airport.

Still, her heart ached as she thought about how difficult it must have been, and hiding her concern wasn't a skill that came naturally.

"Don't worry!" He laughed, his twinkly blue eyes crinkling up in the corners. Transferring his cane over to his other hand, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in tightly. "I'm still as tough as I ever was. That toughness just takes on _way_ lamer and less impressive forms now!"

"Literally?"

"What?

"Ohhh" He shook his head, trying to contain a chuckle, "that's just brutal. I hope you're nicer to your patients than you are to me.

"Besides" he added, still holding her close, "there's nothing that would make me miss out on an extra few minutes with you!"

What had once been hard, lean muscle was softer now, and there was only one arm around her this time. In the ways that mattered, though, not a thing had changed. He still smelled like soap and good cologne. He still made her feel like she was the only girl on the planet, and like everything would always somehow end in a happily ever after. Held close against his beating heart, the world still felt like a safe and wonderful place, the normal concerns of daily life nowhere to be found.

"And you promise you'll be alright?"

"Promise."

"Okay, good, because I'm pretty excited about the extra few minutes with you, too."

 _._

Slowly making their way through the airport, Julie couldn't help but find herself admiring how handsome he really was. Though he looked every minute of his 37 years, he'd developed the patina of a life surprisingly well lived, the decades of lake weekends and questionable mishaps past only giving his chiseled features more character. Combined with his impeccably tailored clothes and adorable smile, she found herself faced with a deadly combination: A preppy who knew about more than _just_ tying Windsor knots and which fork to use.

All the while, they found themselves catching up on the basics: That Mr. Gaffney had finally retired after more than forty years of designing highway intersections, that Julie's youngest brother had come out as gay, and that Adam had found a part-time job at a hedge fund. In the back of her mind, the deeper questions still gnawed at her, the fact not escaping her that 90% of their small talk had centered around _her_ life and _her_ family.

 _Then again, there are some things you don't talk about in the middle of an airport_.

Trying to ease into something slightly more substantive, she decided to bring up one of the safer questions about the Banks family: Scott.

"So speaking of brothers, how is your extremely _not-gay_ brother doing?"

"Extremely not-gay." Adam replied, a hint of pink travelling to his cheeks. "Apparently he's got his first great grandchild on the way."

 _How exactly does one family go so far off the rails?_

"Wow. Uh, good for him?"

"I know, right? I'm kind of hoping he gets to live to see like, his great great great grandchildren. Which, if he can make it to a semi-average life expectancy, will probably actually happen…"

In her head, Julie starting calculating the math.

 _37+7=46÷3_

"Okay, then this begs the question." She smiled mischievously, thinking back to a discussion they'd had one night junior year. "Did he end up coming in over or under on the grandpa bet?"

"Under. Twenty nine."

"What?"

"Yeah. Pay up, Dr. Kitty. You owe me $10 and a can of Mountain Dew."

"I thought we'd agreed on $5?"

"We'd agreed on $5, a can of Mountain Dew, _and a blowjob_." He pointed out, his cheeks now going from pink to bright magenta. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm good with our original agreement if you are, but I figured you might want to alter the terms…"

"So what? Now you're saying my blowjobs are only worth $5?" Julie asked, giving him a light punch in the arm.

Noticing the devilish gleam in his eye, she found herself bracing for the worst as a smile overtook his face.

"This woman likes to beat up the disabled!" Adam announced loudly enough to make curious passersby to turn and look.

Dragging his foot for extra effect, he motioned towards her as he continued his theatric quest to embarrass a certain goalie. "She gets angry and she beats me!"

"I hate you."

"She likes to say hurtful things, too! She tells me she hates me and that this is why God crippled me!"

"Oh my God.

Doubled over with laughter, Julie struggled to get a word in as strangers stared at the two of them. "Are you this horrible to Laura?"

"Me? Horrible?" He shrugged innocently. "Never."

"Why do I suspect she would say otherwise?"

"Why do I suspect you're right?"

.

Going back to quieter discussions, the two continued to make their way through the airport, a certain piece of Julie enjoying the slower pace of walking with him. Those small, deliberate steps meant more time alone together. More time to notice the hint of peppermint on his breath, and the delightful crinkles around his eyes when he'd smile. As they walked, Julie found herself drawn closer and closer, her hand brushing against his several times as she filled him in on her brother's new baby and her mom's idiotic Pinterest projects. All the while, she found herself pondering whether it was really appropriate to complain about her mom's quirks in light of _his_ family situation.

 _Poor guy_.

.

Half an hour later, the two were finally back out in the parking lot, the evening sun casting both in a warm glow. Approaching his silver Audi SUV, Adam pressed a button to open the back hatch, the tailgate lifting automatically.

"Need any help with your bag?"

"I've got it. Thanks."

"Okay, good." He smiled. "Because if you can't get it, I probably can't, either."

As he limped towards the passenger door, Julie couldn't help but notice the sadness seeping through in his last words.

The irony of his fate didn't escape her; that for someone who'd wanted more than anything to be perfect, he'd been doomed to a life of more imperfections than most.

"Well I see your sense of chivalry hasn't gone anywhere." She reassured him as she climbed into the passenger seat, giving him a friendly peck on the cheek before she got in. "You're still the same knight in shining armor you always were."

"Heh, more like a dork in Reynolds Wrap, but I do what I can."

"Knight in shining armor. Preppy in tinfoil. Close enough."

….


	3. There's A Whole Universe Out There

The summer sun shone as the two drove through the city, the grime and graffiti slowly giving way to pristine suburbia. With Adam still every bit the prudent driver she remembered, Julie kicked off her flip flops and leaned back against the creamy leather of the passenger seat, admiring the SUV's smooth ride as Vampire Weekend's _M79_ wafted in the background.

The type who was forever loathe to spend money on big ticket purchases, Julie couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy as she noticed how quiet the Audi was. How lacking it was in the weird clanks and whirs that she took for granted with her ancient Honda…not to mention the improvement in smell, with the Audi smelling like leather and cologne, rather unwashed gym clothes and forgotten takeout.

 _It's really not fair how good his life smells…_

.

After a few moments, Adam decided to open the sunroof, and as the warm breeze blew through her hair, it was hard not to imagine that time had stopped.

Sitting there in the passenger seat with her first love beside her, it was easy enough to imagine that was the case. That it was once again 1998, and that they were once again two teenagers in love. Easy enough to imagine that life was infinite, and that there was a whole world out there, just waiting for them to join.

.

Looking over at Adam, the fantasy seemed plausible.

Sitting down, and with his tortoise shell Wayfarers hiding the laugh lines around his eyes, the effects of time became less obvious. As long as she ignored the polished mahogany cane resting on the other side of him, and the hint of pudge that had taken permanent residence around his middle, he could still pass as the high school hockey star of her fonder memories. They could still going to Mickey's Diner, or a keg party at some house on the lake; they could still be sneaking back to his dorm room afterward, buzzed on cheap rum and one another.

His right hand obviously _not_ holding the wheel, it took a bit of self-control not to reach over and take hold of his warm hand; to entwine her fingers with his as she searched the radio for a Blink-182 song to sing along with.

* * *

April, 1999

 _No one should take themselves so seriously_

 _With so many years ahead to fall inline_

 _Why would you wish that on me?_

 _I never want to act my age_

 _What's my age again?_

 _What's my age again?_

The Porsche's sunroof open and the cool spring air whipping a their faces, the two sang along to the Blink-182 song at the top of their lungs, delightfully unconcerned with their lack of actual musical talent. Thankfully, for both Adam's dignity and the ears of other innocent drivers, it was past midnight, and the suburban roads were deserted as the two headed back to Eden Hall from a party in Minnetonka.

Julie looked over at her drenched boyfriend, laughing as she pulled a leaf from his soppy bangs. "I still can't believe you jumped into the lake!"

"Come on, it was calling everyone's name. I can't help it if Charlie and I were the only ones who listened!"

"It wasn't calling anybody's name. It was still partially frozen! If it could have said anything, it would have said 'Stay away, dumbass! It's not even 50 degrees out!', but it couldn't say that, because it's lakey mouth was still frozen shut."

"Meh, you're just jealous that the lake doesn't talk to you." He smiled, reaching over to stick an icy hand up her shirt.

"Ahh!" She screamed, flinching as the cold coursed through her body.

"Damnit. I hate you so much right now!"

Exacting her revenge, she reached over to the middle of the dashboard, turning off his seat warmer and turning the air conditioner to full blast.

"Fuck!"

"Don't worry." She leaned over and whispered in his ear, her warm hand traveling up the thigh of his khaki shorts. "I'll warm you up when we get back to your room."

Between the street lights outside and the soft glow of the dashboard, there was just enough illumination for her to notice that flush of crimson that had spread over his cheeks.

 _That's one way to give him some color._

Looking over at her flushed, pink preppy, she wished that time could hurry up. That all of the stop signs and red lights would just disappear, and that she could be back in bed with him, sandwiched between the Egyptian cotton sheets and his delicious, hockey carved body.

* * *

"So uh, just a word of warning—" Adam spoke up, snapping Julie back into the present, "Will is…well, he's a little eccentric. He's going through this phase right now where he likes to pretend to be an octopus. If he starts wiggling around like a fucking weirdo, that's…that's normal. For him."

 _Abort sexy thoughts! I repeat, abort sexy thoughts! The 90's definitely are over._

"You raised an octopus? That's pretty great."

"Oh, he's more than just an octopus." Adam clarified, shaking his head. "Last month he was a dinosaur. And before that he was a boat. I still can't quite decide if I'm horrified or honored to have raised such a freak..."

As a warm smile spread across his face, Julie knew the answer.

"You know you're honored. He sounds even weirder than you, and _that's_ an accomplishment!"

"Heh, yeah." He chuckled, "If I would have spent hockey practice pretending to be a fucking boat, I'm pretty sure my dad and Coach Reilly would have taken terms kicking my ass. They would have torn my sails apart, right along with my not-so-imaginary kidneys.

"I guess things are different now." He continued, chewing at his bottom lip as he put his thoughts together. "When Will pretends to be a boat, everyone's just like 'Oh, Will's being a boat today', as though that's some kind of perfectly normal thing.

"I'm kind of jealous, really…it…would have been nice to have that sort of acceptance. To have any sort of acceptance."

In her mind, Julie could still hear his fifteen year old voice on the phone. The bellowing in the background of Phil going on about some jacket that was left in the living room, or a mistake that Scott had made five years prior.

"Well don't worry. I think you're lovely exactly as you are. Repressed boat dreams and all."

"Nah," He chuckled, "I think I want to be a lottery machine. Like, the fancy plastic kind on the news, where the numbered balls bounce through the air until they roll down the little chute…those things are pretty cool."

"Okay, that's weird even for you. I hereby revoke my unconditional acceptance."

"You can't revoke something that's unconditional."

'Fine. Lotto boy."

…

Before long, they were winding their way through the very same Edina neighborhoods she'd come to know so well during high school. Looking out at all of the sprawling Tudors and colonial revivals, she couldn't help but notice that they were smaller than she remembered. That _everything_ seemed smaller than she remembered.

The grand, intimidating mansions of her adolescent memories had all been torn down and replaced with worn, scaled down replicas. Replicas that had been built with cheap materials, all showing the scars of Minnesota's brutal winters.

 _I never realized Edina was so average_.

* * *

October, 1999

"Remind me again why I would ever need to say 'The car is blue' in French?" Adam grumbled, chewing on the end of an orange highlighter as he stared down at his textbook.

Julie sat across the battered oak table in the boys' commons room, taking it all in.

Taking in the graffiti on the table, written in pen and Sharpie by other bored students over the decades. The bland, white walls around her, complete with chipping paint and laminated notes reminding students to pick up after themselves. The serious looking boy in front of her, wearing the same khakis and L.L. Bean Norwegian sweater she'd bought him three years prior, adjusting the rimless glasses that he frequently wore during allergy season.

The same rimless glasses that made him look even _more_ like a 40 year old investment analyst trapped in an 18 year old's body.

"You might need to know it if you ever go to Paris." She suggested, hoping he would take the hint. Hoping that once, just _once_ , he'd show some glimmer of interest in the world outside of the ice rink.

"And why would I go there?"

…

It was now two months into senior year, and at least for Julie, things were starting to change.

While Adam had spent his summer training up in Canada, working ten hours a day to try to iron out the lingering weakenesses in his wristshot, Julie had been touring colleges back east, envisioning a very different type of future. As she'd roamed the manicured grounds of the Ivies, she couldn't help but find new thoughts taking hold. Thoughts that had nothing to do with hockey scouts, or NHL salary caps, or who said what to whom at lunch.

For a long time, she'd bemoaned the fact that two X chromosmes meant that there would be no NHL in her future. However, as she basked in the rolling hills and gothic architecture, she started to think that might be a _good_ thing. Surrounded by books and culture and people who'd been places more exotic than Canada, she couldn't help but imagine a more vibrant future for herself; one in which a little more time was spent discussing _ideas_ , and a little less time was spent discussing Shattuck's defensive line.

Ever since then, the walls of Eden Hall and the endless sea of clean-cut boys in Varsity jackets had seemed like they were closing in around her, trying to turn her into the next 1999 Dairy Princess. With every passing day, she found herself more frustrated with the monotony of routine; with her classmates' seeming acceptance of upper middle class provincialism.

Adam too had fallen victim to the frustration: As horrible as she felt to say it, the same steadfast qualities that she'd once loved now seemed like a noose, strangling the very vibrance out of life.

…

"I don't know. Maybe because it's supposed to be one of the greatest cities in the world?"

"They eat snails and they wear stupid hats. I'm…not really seeing the appeal.

"Besides," He continued, still oblivious to her frustration. "If you go to St. Croix, they already speak English. You don't have to waste your time on stupid shit like this."

"God, that is such a you thing to say!"

"What do you mean?"

Before she could stop it, the thoughts she'd been thinking over the last four months all came spilling out in a grotesque word vomit, spewing the room with her pent up resentments.

"What I mean is that there's a whole fucking universe out there, Adam. A whole fucking universe that doesn't involve St. Croix or hockey or Ralph Lauren or the stock market or ordering chicken strips at every damn meal! A universe in which people wear T-shirts and travel and have _sex_ that lasts for more than three minutes!"

Stunned, he looked up from his textbook just as the last of Julie's tirade was coming out. She could see the hurt forming across his face, and instantly, she wished she could take it all back. Instead, they both sat there in awkward silence for a moment before Adam quietly began gathering his stuff to get up.

"There's also a whole universe of girls who aren't gold digging sluts."

"Prick."

"Stupid bitch."

* * *

Lost in thought, Julie barely noticed that they had turned off into his neighborhood until she heard a garage door opening, and realized that they were pulling onto a cobblestone drive. Looking ahead, she saw a sprawling three story colonial with black shutters and carefully tended window boxes, all overflowing with sunny yellow flowers.

 _Ah. I guess THAT'S what $26M in insider trading gets a person._

 _Clearly I made the wrong choices in life…_

"So I take it this is the new house?"

Adam paused for a moment, as if thinking how to answer.

Finally, he just nodded.

"Yeah"

 _Well, that was insightful._

"Well, you have as good of taste as ever. It's very…you."

"Indeed it is." He smiled, "You know, I'm not just a fancy plastic lottery machine. I'm _also_ a house."

"I _knew_ it! You weren't fooling me with that whole 'I'm a person' thing."

"Man, I can't get anything past you. Damn goalie…"

"Well, seriously, it's beautiful. I can't think of anybody more deserving…"

Adam shrugged, staring ahead at the clapboard Georgian, as if thinking about the thousand life decisions that had led him to where he was.

"Heh, I'm not sure how many people would agree with that last part, but thank you."

….

Walking through the side door off the garage, the fantasy of living in a Brooks Brothers catalog continued as they entered the kitchen. With oak parquet and end grain butcher block accenting the painted cabinets, Julie could recognize the deceptive modesty right away; such understatement might have _looked_ quaint, but it was well out of her granite and Sub Zero price range.

At the center island stood an extremely pregnant Laura, preparing a salad in a white sundress and blue floral print apron. With her blonde hair pulled into a loose chignon and the ruddy glow of a life spent gardening and playing tennis, Julie couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy towards her replacement.

 _Seriously, hasn't anybody in this house ever heard of sweatpants?_

"Hey sweetie," Laura greeted, setting down the cheese grater in her hand to give her husband a quick kiss. "I missed you!"

"And I've missed you, too, Julie. It's been much too long!

"I hope that your flight was alright?"

As Julie and Laura exchanged pleasantries, a chubby preschooler in yellow seersucker waddled over from behind the kitchen island, her blonde bob pinned back with a white bow.

"Daddy!" She squealed, putting her arms out for a hug. Slowly, Adam leaned his cane against the butcher block counter and crouched down the to the girl's level. Her short plump arms wrapped around his neck, he pulled her in closer, leaning over to kiss the top of her forehead.

"And how is my little sugarplum?"

In the background, a TV could be heard blaring, the sounds of a truck commercial being augmented by an enthusiastic burping contest.

"Tucker. Will. Company.

"Sorry about that." Laura apologized with a sigh. "I promise we've _tried_ to teach them manners."

"Don't worry!" Julie laughed. "I have three brothers, and my parents are _still_ trying to teach them to be civilized."

"I hope they've had more luck than I'm having…"

"Well, two out of three eventually figured out the whole soap thing, so that was a step in the right direction."

"Heh, my standards are growing lower by the day with those two. If Tucker would figure out soap, I would be one very happy woman.

"Really." Adam agreed, reaching for his cane to help push himself back up off the floor. "The kid smells like ass. I just want to write an apology note to everyone who's stuck being around him."

As Laura turned to help her husband up, both boys walked into the kitchen.

 _Looks like they have this human cloning thing down_.

Lounging near the entryway, both boys had the same tousled hair as their father; the same sparkling blue eyes. In their chino shorts and pastel polos, they were perfect little carbon copies of the first boy Julie had fallen for, right down to Will's boat shoes and Tucker's black sport watch.

"And what were you saying about me?" The older one chimed in, running his fingers through his blonde mane as he leaned against the counter.

"We were talking about the fact that you smell like a dead hobo's ass. But not as good."

"Sweeeet!"

Adam shook his head and sighed.

"I'm so putting you in foster care."

* * *

November, 1999

"Hey…Adam…we umm, we need to talk." Julie said nervously, rubbing the back of her neck as she stared down at the old black and white linoleum.

She had been putting this conversation off for two weeks, not wanting to worry him. Finally, though, Connie had convinced her that she needed to go talk to him. The senior boys' dorms were right next door to the senior girls', but still, she'd almost lost her nerve and turned back around six times during the five minute walk over to his room. As she stood there at his door, her gaze shifting back and forth between the checkerboard floor and his concerned face, she regretted her decision not to turn back around when she had the chance.

"Well then come in." He reassured her, wrapping her in a tender hug.

It was late in the evening, and he'd already stripped down to his pale blue boxers and a thin white undershirt for the night, his contacts once again traded in for sensible glasses thanks to fall allergies. Yet again, his classic, tidy appearance was giving off Future Investment Analyst-vibes, but this time, she found his steadfastness reassuring.

Feeling his strong, muscular arms gently pulling her in towards his warm, toned body, everything felt so perfect. So safe. As she buried her face in his shoulder, she could smell the last hints of his spicy cologne mixed with the scent of laundry detergent from his freshly washed sleep shirt, and she wanted to hop right into bed with him, perhaps removing his freshly laundered shirt while she was at it.

Of course, that was also what had caused this whole mess.

"Now what do we need to talk about?" He asked gently once they were both sitting on his bed, his arm around her waist while his other hand brushed a strand of strawberry blonde hair out of her face.

"I'm late."

"So do we need to talk another time?" He asked, confused by her worry. "I mean, I don't want to keep you from whatever you're running late for."

"No, I mean, I'm. Late."

"Okaaaay…so, do I need to like, take you somewhere? Because I'll get dressed and take you wherever you need to go!"

"No, not that kind of late! I mean, my period's late…I think I'm pregnant."

"Ohhh" He replied slowly, the thought still sinking in. The two sat side by side on his bed, both staring at the floor in silence for a moment before he added "Well, it wouldn't be that big of deal if you are. We'll just get married sooner rather than later."

Enraged, Julie jumped off the bed and stood in front of him, staring down at the clueless boy in front of her, just sitting there in his damned monogrammed boxers.

 _I can't believe I let someone who monograms his underwear get me pregnant!_

"What the hell do you mean it wouldn't be that big of a deal?" She shouted, "This is my life we're talking about! My future! What about college, huh? What about all of things I want to do?"

"I mean, I guess it would suck to go to prom pregnant, and I'd always imagined a wedding that wasn't of the shotgun variety" he shrugged, "but it's not like this is some Lifetime movie where we'd have to drop out of school and go work in the coal mines. I always figured we'd get married and have kids together, anyway, so would it really be the end of the world to do things a couple years sooner than we'd had in mind?"

 _We? What the hell do you mean by 'we'? Because I sure as hell wasn't in on this plan! You never consulted with me on any of this!_

"College, Adam. College. How the hell am I supposed to go to college with a kid?"

"It's not like you're going to _need_ to go to college or anything. You know full and well I'll easily be able to support a family next year. If you want, we can go to college together after I've retired and the kids are older. It'll be fun...we can study together when we're like, 40."

 _Oh. My. God. It's like I'm talking to Charlie here, but worse! How many concussions has this idiot had?!_

"Do you not understand how serious this is?"

"I get that it's not ideal." He replied, taking a deep breath. "I know this isn't what we either one had in mind. I'm just saying that in the grand scheme of things, this wouldn't actually change our lives _that_ much."

"Well, it might not change your plans, but it would sure as hell change mine!"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought about the other option.

"So…you're wanting an abortion? Because I mean, that's not what I want to do, but yeah, I can always get the money from my parents. I suppose it wouldn't be the first time they've written a check for that…"

"That's not what I'm talking about! I don't want an abortion!"

Julie couldn't hold it in anymore. She collapsed onto his bed, sobbing.

"So what do you want, then?" He asked gently, rubbing her back as she cried.

"I don't know."

Not knowing what else to do, Adam simply laid down next to her, holding her as her body heaved up and down from the tears. After more than an hour, her crying started to slow, and the two fell asleep in his bed, his arm still wrapped around her.

…


	4. Living in a Gangster's Paradise

"I hope you like chicken noodle casserole?" Laura asked, a blue LeCreuset dish in hand. "I really did intend to fix something nicer, but the day just got away. Besides, between Adam and the kids, trying to fix anything that's not fried or covered in cheese really becomes a bit of a lost cause…

"We have lasagna and tater tot casserole in the freezer, though. Or, if you like, you and Adam would be welcome to go get something that's _not_ processed and covered in Velveeta."

"Why does something tell me he would be the wrong dinner companion for that?" Julie joked, well-aware that left to his own devices, Adam would be content to live off of chicken fingers and macaroni for the rest of his life.

 _One of the many reasons it never would have worked..._

"Good point! But you never know. He might be on his good behavior for you; willing to pretend that he eats vegetables and things that aren't on the kids' menu."

…

Walking into the dining room, a salad bowl in hand, Julie couldn't help marvel at the perfection of everything. With deep coral walls and intricate crown molding; expansive windows and blue toile curtains, it really was quite the monument to _good taste_. Even with three kids, the table was set with delicate china and lead crystal that glistened in the sunlight, the grandeur on par with the formal dinners Bunny had once thrown.

The difference was, this time, it all seemed natural. Like people were just _supposed_ to use bone china and 19th century silverware to eat chicken casserole on a Friday night; the patina and chipped plates bearing testimony to the normalcy of it all.

"Why can't you find more friends like this?" Laura joked as Julie placed the salad bowl on the table. "Scott and Larson never help."

"Well of course they don't. They're men."

Julie shot him a piercing look as Laura reached over to light the candles.

"Indeed they are. Sad, lonely, _celibate_ men."

"Point well taken."

By that time, all three kids were seated, and as Laura passed the dinner rolls, Will started wiggling around, showing off his finest octopus moves.

"Will, sweetie, what did I say about being an octopus at the table?"

"Blub blub blub blub"

"Well, at least eat your salad. Octopi need their vegetables, too."

"Blub blub."

* * *

November, 1999

"I'm not a mom!" Julie squealed from the cramped bathroom she and Connie shared with their suitemates.

It had been three days since her talk with Adam, and finally, her period had come. They weren't going to be teen parents, after all.

"Congratulations!" Connie cheered, tackling her in a hug after she finished up in the restroom. "I'm so happy that you aren't going to be a mommy!"

The two stood there for a moment, arms still around one another, swaying back and fourth in joyous relief.

"However, that would have been the sexiest kid ever!"

"Oh my gosh, that is so wrong!"

Julie had never dreamed that she could be so happy to get her period. A wave of relief rushed over her entire body, and she felt like she was walking on white, fluffy clouds coated with unicorn dust.

A smaller part of her, though, was _almost_ disappointed.

After her talk with Adam, a piece of her had come around to his logic. She had spent the last two days daydreaming about buying a perfect house together, with a perfect white picket fence. She could picture them sitting together on the back porch, sipping lemonade as their children ran through the grass barefoot, chasing fireflies. She could see herself standing in the front door, calling everyone inside for dinner while Adam taught their kids to play hockey in the driveway. She could see them all curled up together in a big soft bed, reading bedtime stories, and making pancakes together in the kitchen on lazy Saturday mornings.

It wasn't really the life she'd always pictured for herself, but it did sound awfully nice. Better, even, in some ways.

* * *

That evening after dinner, Julie walked back upstairs to the guest room to unpack her things and change into pajamas.

Along the way, she couldn't help but admire it all. The perfect white wainscoting that her mom had always wanted when they were growing up, but that her family never quite had the extra money for. The abundance of built-in bookshelves in every room, filled with well-loved books and old hockey trophies and expensive tchotchkes from Tiffany's and elementary school art projects. The cozy window seat in the guest bedroom, and the way that the whole room smelled like Chanel No.5. The gallery wall in the upstairs hallway, filled with artistic black and white prints of the family at the beach, and the kids having snowball fights, and Adam and Laura in their younger days.

She smiled at Adam's senior picture, remembering the boy who still had the whole world in front of him, and the picture taken a few months later of the Eden Hall hockey team holding their national championship banner, Adam's arm around her waist.

.

By the time she made her way back downstairs, Laura was still straightening up in the kitchen, while Adam and the kids had changed into their pajamas, and were now in the process of building a blanket fort in the living room.

"You need any help with anything?" Julie asked when she saw that Laura was still in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

"Oh no, I was just taking advantage of the fact that Caroline's occupied for once. I'm almost done, though. You're more than welcome to go join the construction project they seem to have going on!"

"You're sure?"

"Of course. I do this every day."

Back in the living room, Adam was holding one corner of a sheet with his mouth as he tried to clear off a section of bookshelf, while Tucker and Will secured the other corners to an end table and an overstuffed ottoman.

Caroline, meanwhile, was sitting under a ticking striped couch cushion, playing with a doll that had the same haircut as her.

Taking the whole scene in, Julie couldn't help but feel as if she had stepped into a Norman Rockwell painting…if, that is, Norman Rockwell had focused his efforts on painting the rich and unusually attractive.

 _He really is a bit of a DILF_.

.

Indeed, standing there engrossed in his blanket forts, Adam was _a dad_. In poplin pajama pants and a faded T-shirt, there was no longer any camouflaging the ravages of time; careful tailoring no longer there to hide what 20 years of paralysis had done to his body. It was now obvious that his right arm hung awkwardly at his side, thinner than his left. The sculpted chest and perfectly carved abs she used to trace with her fingers were nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a tummy that was a bit rounder and jigglier than it had appeared under his button down. With his Cole Haans off, there was nothing to hide the plastic leg brace that kept him from tripping over his own foot, and without his cane, he had to learn against the blue and white loveseat for support.

Still, to Julie, he was as handsome as ever, his decidedly imperfect body just begging to be snuggled.

After all, there had always been something endearing about his flaws.

The various scars and freckles and oddly shaped bits had always been a reminder that underneath all of the hype, there was still a real person. A real person _far_ sexier and more interesting than any newspaper article would ever let on.

* * *

December, 1999

 _Keep spending most our lives_

 _Livin' in a gangsta's paradise_

 _Been spending most their lives_

 _Livin' in a gangsta's paradise_

" _Really_?" Julie thought, the stereo thumping as she looked around the paneled living room and her khaki clad classmates _"Could there be a more ironic song?"_

It was the Saturday before Christmas break, and Luke Riley had taken advantage of his parents' trip the Caribbean, filling their Edina home with teenage revelers, all eager for a break from finals. Adam had tried to stay behind at the dorms, but Julie was having none of it, the party a perfect excuse to take a break from calculus.

Over in the kitchen, he was talking with Reid Larson and some other Breck B-listers, while Julie and Connie were in the living room, drinking their vodka punch by the fire. The logs crackled as Connie and Julie people watched, laughing at Portman's failed attempt at picking up a cheerleader and Erica Tate's 'Sexy Mrs. Clause' outfit.

Unfortunately for Julie, their girl bonding time was soon interrupted by _Chad_ , a lacrosse bro with frosted tips and a double digit IQ. On the rebound from her most recent breakup with Guy, Connie was willing to overlook Chad's penchant for hair gel and puka shell necklaces in favor of the fact that he had a Camaro and _wasn't Guy_.

"So what are _you_ doing for Christmas, Chad?" She slurred, reaching over to put her hand on the lacrosse player's arm.

"Thinkin' about you, baby."

"Oh _really_?"

"Of course, sweet thing." Chad replied, taking another drink of his Bud Light as he stared down her shirt.

 _This is sadder than Thad._

Leaving Connie and Chad to their own questionable devices, Julie made her way over the kitchen, where she was greeted by the smell of beer and the sight of her favorite preppy.

"Decided you just couldn't be away from us cool kids any longer, huh?"

"You guessed it!"

"Dare I ask what tore you away from Connie?" He asked, setting his drink down to put an arm around her waist.

Held closely, Julie could smell the alcohol on his breath mixing with his cologne, and leaning into his shoulder, she found herself wishing she could stay in his arms forever, the stifling monotony of Minnesota be damned.

"Chad."

"Frosted Tips?" He chuckled, "That's sadder than Thad…"

"Thank you!"

"Seriously. Thad's a sort of decent guy, and his dad is like, one of seventy-six vice presidents at the bank. Chad is…somehow less cool."

"Perfect summary." She agreed. "Plus, Thad doesn't call people 'sweet thing' unironically. Or ironically, for that matter."

Noticing that her drink was nearly empty, Julie decided to pull herself away long enough to refill her plastic cup. At just about that same time, Rick Riley came stumbling the kitchen in search of another beer, happily plowing his way through any high school kids who stood in the way.

Bumping into Julie, memories of his quest for beer vanished, the sight of her cleavage _far_ more appealing than another can of Keystone. A lecherous grin curled up through his lips as he looked her up and down, Adam standing just a foot away.

"I see you grew some quality tits. Let me, uh, let me know if you ever get tired of this faggot. I can show you what a _real_ man is like."

Adam's eyes narrowed as he stared down his freshman year tormentor, four years of rage threatening to boil over.

"Go to hell, you sick fuck."

"Aww, did somebody grow some balls?" Rick sneered, giving Adam a shove into the granite counter behind him.

With that, the last morsel of self-control left Adam's body as he landed a solid punch to Rick's jaw. Rick collapsed to the travertine floor as Adam gave a satisfied smirk.

"I sure as hell have more balls than you ever did. Prick."

By this time, the party had grown silent, everybody crowded into the kitchen to watch the melee between Varsity Captain Past and Varsity Captain Present. Looking at a slightly dazed Rick Riley on ground, a sense of excitement filled the air, the on-lookers clamoring for a bit of blood to liven up the night.

Adam, meanwhile, felt quite satisfied with his efforts, turning back around to resume his conversation with Julie, all the while doing his best to pretend that his hand _didn't_ throb.

Disappointed, his fellow party goers started to do the same, just as Rick recovered his senses and rose from the floor. Grabbing a beer bottle from the island, he reached back and swung.

Before anybody had time to process what was about to happen next, Rick delivered a devastating blow above Adam's left ear, the amber glass shattering against the center's skull. Stumbling forward, Adam struggled to regain his balance as blood began pouring down his face; his pale yellow oxford drenched within seconds.

 _Keep spending most our lives_

 _Livin' in a gangsta's paradise_

The song's foreboding lyrics continued, the thumping bass now the only sound in the house. A sea of crimson pooled at Adam's feet while the whole party stood frozen, everybody too shocked to move.

 _Been spending most their lives_

 _Livin' in a gangsta's paradise_

The first to regain his composure, Larson grabbed a clean tea towel that had been hanging from the handle of the oven. Pressing it firmly against the side of his friend's face, he put an arm around Adam's shoulder.

"Alrighty. Looks like we're going to make a little trip to the emergency room."

.

For the majority of the guests, the stunned silence continued as Larson led Adam out the door, Connie and Julie following wordlessly behind. Still not saying a thing, the two walked out into the chilly night air, climbing into the backseat of Larson's maroon Camry as the December wind nipped at their faces.

The passenger door groaned as Julie closed it behind her, and she found herself praying as she shoved a gym bag and crumpled fast food wrappers to the side.

 _Please God. Let him be alright_.

Retrieving a Nokia from the battered center console, Larson passed the phone back to Julie.

"Can you call Banksie's dad for me? Ask him which hospital has the best plastic surgeon."

A phone call to Phil later, everybody sat in silence for the next half hour, all four unsure what else to say. Winding their way through the dark suburban streets, the lights of the city gradually appeared, a Dave Matthews CD playing in the background. All the while in the backseat, Connie and Julie held hands, both willing themselves not to cry.

 _I'm sure it's not that bad_.

 _Just a couple of stitches._

 _Surely not that bad_.

Over and over she told herself the same thing, squeezing Connie's hand as _Ants Marching_ played over the tinny stereo.

.

Her optimism came crashing down in the light of the emergency room.

As Adam removed the tea towel to show the triage nurse what had happened, Julie's heart sank. His once perfect, unblemished skin had been sliced open from above his ear to below the corner of his nose, the cut deep enough to expose the fat underneath. Instantly, she realized that he'd never look the same, and as she thought about the fact that she'd been the one to drag him to the party, her eyes welled with tears.

 _I ruined his life_.

Sitting down, Julie picked the non-bloodied side, desperate to get the gruesome image out of her head. Her hand resting on his thigh as he held the towel against his face, she stared down at the floor, counting the mauve and white tiles as other people started to flow in.

 _I seriously ruined his life._

In groups of two or three, the room slowly began to fill as concerned partygoers trickled in, Charlie and Guy both coming by at one point to pat him on the back and wish him well. Crawford came by too, along with the infamous Thad, both reassuring him that this was the manliest thing they'd ever heard of. Finally, Scott made his way over, still flushed and sporting a wrinkled, unbuttoned shirt courtesy of the Waffle House waitress he'd been boning when the phone rang.

"Dude" Scott nodded, sitting down next to his baby brother.

The two sat in silence for a moment, Scott well aware that the perennially insecure center was hurting far more than he let on.

"It's going to be okay, man.

"And you're going to look badass as hell."

 **…...**

Four hours later, the crowd was all gone, and Julie sat alone in the family waiting room, fighting back tears as she thought about what she had done. Thinking about the fact that _she_ had been the one to drag him to the party; that _she_ had been the one he was trying to defend.

 _It's my fault._

 _I ruined his life, and it's all my fault_.

She was flipping through an issue of Family Circle, attempting to quiet her guilt, when she heard footsteps enter the room.

Looking up, she saw her beloved preppy, still in his blood soaked oxford. Along the side of his face ran a thin train track of stitches, over a hundred tidy little black knots holding the pieces of his cheek together.

Once again, all attempts at being strong for him flew out the window, her whole body shaking as the tears ran down her face.

Sitting down beside her, Adam pulled her in next to him as he leaned down to kiss the top of her forehead.

"I'm sorry if I worried you."

The sobbing continued as she struggled to speak, choking over her own words as her nose and throat became clogged from all of the tears.

"I-I'm sorry I ruined your life."

"Wait. What?"

"I dragged you there. It's, it's my fault you're going to be deformed."

Just as even _more_ guilt washed over her at the realization of what she'd said, Adam let out a chuckle, holding her in even closer.

"Well, this _deformed_ guy doesn't think it's your fault at all! But even if it was, I'd love you just the same.

"Besides, my dad brought in the best plastic surgeon in the state. I'll probably only be like, 1/3 of the way deformed by the time it's all said and done."

* * *

"Ah, Jules" He greeted, removing the sheet from his mouth "we need your engineering expertise over here! Want to help us figure out how to use that other sheet over there as a door without collapsing everything?"

"I don't know, I'm not much of a blanket fort engineer."

"What?" He laughed, his smile still as intoxicating as ever. "You go to some fancy, Ivy League college, and they don't even cover Blanket Forts 101? I _knew_ I was right to pass up Harvard!"

Before long, they had not only successfully constructed a door for the blanket fort, but also room dividers, a decorative pitched roof, and a moat. The blanket fort compound now spanned not only the entire living room, but spilled into the hallway and kitchen, filling the colonial with flowers and polka dots and airplanes.

 _How many sets of sheets do these people even own?_

Standing by the kitchen island, the two looked out amid the sea of linens and admired their handiwork, Adam swirling his glass of bourbon as they took their creation in.

"And you tried to claim you didn't know anything about blanket forts…"

"You were the developer, architect, and lead engineer on this project." Julie pointed out, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I was just the foreman."

"The foreman is the one who makes things happen."

* * *

January, 2000

"What do you _want_ to do?" Julie asked, laying next to Adam.

Outside, the snow was falling, while inside, the two lay side by side in his bed, the fluffy down comforter covering their half-naked bodies.

"I mean, I _want_ to go the NHL, but I want to make as much money as possible when I do."

.

For months, the topic had been hanging in the air, creating an ever-present cloud of uncertainty: What to do after high school.

For every senior, it was at once an exciting and dreadful topic, the far stakes higher than what any of them had faced in their eighteen years prior.

For Adam in particular, it was a fraught matter.

On one hand, he was good.

Extremely good. All-American, two national championships, NHL draft good.

On the other hand, at 18, he couldn't walk through metal detectors for all the titanium in his body. He'd already been under the knife more than half of the guys in the pros, and the scouts _knew_ it.

Time was a complicated enough matter for any top athlete, but for him, it was exceptionally problematic. A year of D1 hockey would give him more time to develop, and more time to prove that his battered body _could_ hold up to the harder hits of the next level. However, it would also be another year of running down the clock; a clock that he knew didn't have enough time to begin with.

.

Julie wrapped an arm around him, pulling herself closer. Close enough to smell the hints of cologne lingering on his neck, and to feel the rise and fall of every breath. Nuzzling up against him, she ran a finger over the scar along his cheek, happy to note that he wasn't _deformed_ in the least, the thin pale scar having only made him more delicious.

"So what are you thinking if you don't go right into the draft?"

"Harvard. Minnesota. One of the two."

"Heh, guess there's no escaping the maroon for you, is there?"

"It _is_ a flattering color."

All the while as they lay there next to one another, Julie realized that the clock on his pro career wasn't the only one ticking. The relationship that had felt so infinite two years before was now nearing its logical end; regardless of where he went, and regardless of where she went, medical school and the NHL were not going to be good bedfellows.

Still, as the snow fell outside, she tried to push all of that out of her head. In _this_ moment, curled up next to him in the warm cocoon of his bed, life was wonderful.


	5. Saying Goodbye

"Goodnight, Stinky." Adam smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of his eldest son's head.

"Goodnight, Jacques Cousteau." He added, turning to his younger son.

"Night night, Dad." Will replied, wrapping his arms tightly around his father's squishy waist. "I love you."

Adam's smile grew wider as he ruffled his fingers through his son's sandy hair, pausing to take it all in. Pulling Will in tighter, he just stood there, relishing the moment. Relishing the last moments of boyhood with a son who had largely grown up without him.

"I love you, too, my dear octopus. I love you and Stinky more than anything."

.

Looking on at the display of affection, Tucker's seventh grade boy instincts soon kicked in, demanding that he bring an end to the Hallmark Moment before his family could descend into any further lameness.

"Gaaaaaaaay!"

"Dude." Adam shook his head, chuckling. "You're like, _The Pretty Pretty Princess_ all-time champ in his house."

"Just jealous I beat you."

"Well no shit, Princess Di. Don't you know you're supposed to let your dad win at that stuff?"

"Dork"

As she stood back and watched it all, Julie could feel herself melting—for all of the turns his life had taken, the best qualities were still there. The guy who had obliged many a five-year-old fan in his day was alive and well, every bit as adorable as he had been at seventeen.

" _Perhaps cuter even."_ She thought, noting that all of those weekends spent out on the lake had had a _very_ positive impact on his appearance.

 _The sun has definitely been his friend._

…

"You know," She joked a few minutes later, looking at the pink floral print walls and yellow striped ceiling that now surrounded her and Adam, "I think we might be living out every second grader's ultimate fantasy here."

"A boy and a girl in the same blanket fort?" He laughed, reaching for a Dorito. "Never! You'll still have cooties for at least another three years."

Having loved the blanket fort too much to tear it down, the two had decided to make the most of the sheet-covered living room, having set up camp under a particularly luxurious expanse of Egyptian cotton. Sitting atop overstuffed throw pillows, the two were surrounded by junk food, bourbon, and sangria, giving them an adult-friendly take on the childhood paradise.

"How do you know I don't still have cooties?"

"Well, I mean, you might, but they're called social diseases now, and I don't think we're being _that_ kind of social."

"Eww!

"Also, can we just take a moment to appreciate your use of euphemism here? Because I'm pretty sure the last person I heard refer to them as 'social diseases' was my 80 year old Presbyterian grandmother."

Upstairs, Laura could be heard crying about a mess that had been made in the bathroom, the details of which Julie could only imagine. Feeing guilty, she turned towards Adam just as he was reaching for a handful of gummy bears.

"Do…you think one of us should go up there and make sure everything is okay?"

"Come on." He shrugged. "She knows I can't do stairs, and you're _obviously_ needed down here to help me with these gummy bears."

 _It's a three-story house._

"So…you legitimately haven't been upstairs?"

 _I mean, if nothing else, it looks like you could afford an elevator._

"Not once."

"You bought a house that you can't access two-thirds of?"

A mischievous smile overtook his face as he grabbed an Oreo.

" _Yes I did_. Definitely the best part of all of this."

 _Geez_

Realizing all too well what he was talking about, she felt a familiar twinge of irritation washing over; one that she'd first felt in HomeEc when she realized he didn't know how to wash a dish, and that had never quite gone away since.

"Has anyone told you lately that you're horrible?"

"Weirdly enough, I think Laura _has_ mentioned that a few times, now that you bring it up…"

"I can't imagine why."

"Neither can I."

…

February 24, 2000

"I mean, I just, ugh…I just can't do this anymore. Not for like, the rest of my life."

As Julie had checked the mail that morning, she realized that the clock on their relationship had run down to the zero hour. The fat green and white envelope in hand, the Dartmouth admissions office had confirmed that there were things in her future besides being an NHL wife. Things besides following Adam wherever _he_ went.

"No offense, but like, are you sure?"

Connie set on the bed across, clutching a blue and yellow floral pillow against her chest as the sleet outside pelted against the window.

.

In _her_ mind, the issue was a no-brainer. Even though she and Guy had a much rockier history than Adam and Julie, she had always considered it a given that she'd be following Guy wherever the sport took him.

After all, Guy wasn't perfect, but he was the only boy she'd ever really loved. And, following him to college or the minors still sounded more interesting than going to the community college and becoming a dental hygienist like her mother.

.

"Yeah. I mean—" Julie paused, trying to think how to phrase things. How to avoid insulting her best friend's ambitions…or lack thereof.

 _I don't want to be like our moms._

 _I don't want to spend the rest of my life driving a Volvo that smells like feet, and having to thank my husband for the "privilege" of staying home all day and scrubbing toilets._

"I mean, Adam's great and all, but he's _Adam_. He'll probably want to talk about the stock market at dinner and give our kids fifteen middle names each. I don't think I'm up for a lifetime of that."

 _Also, he doesn't know how to use a toaster._

"Good point! Still, he's going to be like, crazy rich. And he _is_ dreamy."

"What?" Julie squealed, throwing a stuffed bear at her roommate. "You did _not_ just call Adam dreamy!"

"I mean, don't worry, I'm not like, wanting to steal him from you or anything, but yeah, dude's dreamy. Can't think of anyone who would disagree. That's…just one of those side effects of having eyes. Or not.

"Pretty sure Blind Brenda's into him, too."

Julie shook her head, trying to figure out how their discussion had taken such a turn for the absurd, yet also deeply grateful for her roommate's sense of humor.

"Blind Brenda is _not_ into him."

"Umm…yeah. You notice how often she bumps into him? And how she never bumps into us? That's…not an accident. Blind Brenda's horny as hell, and she is dying to do the horizontal tango with the boy."

"Eww!"

"That's not what Blind Brenda's thinking!"

…..

Back under the blanket fort, Adam leaned against the bottom of the sofa as he poured himself another glass of bourbon.

"So, Dr. Kitty," He asked, drink firmly in hand, "is being a rich, important doctor as fun as it sounds?"

Now on his ninth refill, his eyelids were starting to grow a little heavy as he lifted the crystal lowball to his mouth, the amber liquid easing the awkwardness of 20 years apart.

" _I'm_ the rich one?" She shook her head, thinking back to her ancient Honda and mid-six figure student loans.

 _Self-awareness is not this boy's gift._

"But no, honestly, it's about a thousand times less interesting than what it looks like on TV."

"What?" His heavy eyes grew wide with mock incredulousness as a smile overtook his face. "TV isn't an accurate representation of reality? What's next, are you going to tell me that Benny Hinn can't resurrect my NHL dreams?"

"Oh, of course he can, Adam. You just have to _believe_.

"But yeah, no. Turns out it's not really like, tons of sexy people solving sexy mystery diseases every hour. It's mostly just prescribing cholesterol medication. And paperwork. And paperwork _about_ prescribing cholesterol medication."

"Man. If that doesn't get your blood flowing in the morning, I don't know what will."

"So what about you?" Julie asked, reaching for a handful of gummy bears. "Are you hedge fund guys all as rich and evil as you seem?"

"Evil?" He laughed, throwing a Dorito at her.

"But nope. I'm _definitely_ not rich, and I'm pretty sure I'm not evil."

"This is an impressive house for someone who's _definitely not rich_ …"

"Think of it as the consolation prize for being the guy who'd be most sympathetic to a jury."

Though the words were casual, they hung in the air like a bit of August humidity after a rainstorm, their meaning dancing through Julie's head far longer than Adam had intended.

 _Four years_.

"So is the hedge fund life better than investment banking was?"

He set his drink down again, chewing on the side of his lip as he thought about the question. For a moment they sat in silence, him running a hand through his thick mane as he contemplated the reality of his situation. Finally, he nodded.

"I mean, I don't do much…I _can't_ do much. I'm forever barred from anything useful. But, I finally have _time_. I get to see Laura and the kids, and spend more than like, a day a month with them. I can work with a physical therapist, and go the gym, and get enough sleep, and that stuff's…that stuff's a huge life changer. I mean, I don't feel like death every day. And I'm able to do more. I can even like, almost use my right hand again, which is really lame thing to be excited about, but it's nice, because hands are useful to have…"

Looking down, Julie noticed that he could indeed wiggle his thumb and bend his wrist. A smile spread over her face, and inside, she could feel herself squealing with delight at this unexpected bit of news.

 _Even that much improvement has to make his day-to-day life a lot easier._

"What?" Leaning over, she took hold of his hand and brought it in closer, trying to believe what she was feeling as his thumb squeezed against the back of her hand. "No. Not dorky at all. Hands _are_ really useful to have. I really enjoy having two of them!"

"Conversations 17 year old me would have never imagined."

"Oh come on." Julie laughed, "Technically, we probably had this exact conversation at some point. You just didn't imagine it being so permanent in nature."

"Okay, true. Also, my standards for functionality were _way_ higher!"

"Lowered ex-pect-ations" She sang in a deep alto, referencing the old MadTV skit as she gently squeezed his hand back.

"Seriously. It's not even funny how much that sums up my life."

"Ditto.

"Do you ever stop to think what our seventeen year old selves would do if they could like, see into the future and see what becomes of their lives?" She pondered, leaning towards him as she chewed the side of her lip.

"Heh, I'm pretty sure if 17 year old me could have seen into the future, there wouldn't _be_ an adult me. He would have borrowed Dwayne's lasso and joined ol' Garrett.

"The kid from Shattuck who hung himself." Adam clarified, noticing her confusion. "Did it in the old Hawk ice rink like, a mile down the road from here."

"Shit. I'd forgotten about that.

"But yeah, that's warped. I mean, not that 17 year old me wouldn't be tempted to join you..."

"Whaat?" His incredulousness real this time, he did his best to play it off, unsure how to handle the _real_ conversation at the core of it all. "This coming from Dr. Kitty? The one person on the planet whose dreams actually did come to fruition? Nope. Seventeen year old me isn't allowing that."

"And how are you going to stop me?" She challenged, leaning closer yet.

" _Damn it, Cat Lady."_ She thought, remembering the words of her old Catholic school principal. _"Better leave some room for Jesus there."_

"This is seventeen year old me we're talking about! Thirty eight year old me isn't quite up to leading a parade of disabled turtles, but seventeen year old me could _totally_ take you."

"Not if he's dead."

"Shit, I guess you have a point there." He chuckled, reaching for another Dorito. "Fine. Seventeen year old me will stick around if it means you will. But only because I care about New England's fatasses getting their cholesterol medication."

"Now _that_ is the selfless guy I remember."

"I do what I can.

"Besides," He added a moment later, the earnestness returning to his voice. " _This_ , right now, is pretty nice. And not just in a 'lowered expectations' way."

….

February 26, 2000

"Is everything okay?" Adam whispered, leaning over towards Julie.

The two were sitting together in fourth period AP English, listening as Mrs. Connely droned on for half an hour about the symbolism in Moby Dick, leaving the class full of second semester seniors close to tears from sheer tedium of it all.

Her mind on other things, Julie had spent the period doodling in her black and white speckled notebook, the endless string of boxes and swirls helping quiet her nerves.

 _No. No it's not. Because I'm about four hours from breaking up with you_.

"Yeah, just bored. That's all."

"I'd be worried if you weren't. Those look like some quality notes you've been taking there."

Looking over at his paper, she smiled.

 _Nothing._

"You're one to talk. What are you going to do when some ESPN reporter asks you for your thoughts on the symbolism of whale blubber?"

"Well, for one, I'll know that that person's journalism career definitely _hasn't_ turned out the way they'd hoped."

 _I'm really, really going to miss him._

"I don't know. I think if I were a reporter, and my boss would let me get away with it, I'd totally ask something like that, just to watch everybody squirm. I mean, imagine asking a guy like McSorely about literary symbolism."

"That's just evil, Cat Lady."

"You know you'd do the same."

"Maybe."

Turning back to her paper, Julie resumed doodling a chain of interconnected boxes as the clock ticked by. Meanwhile, Adam resumed his attempts at balancing his pen across his nose, having long given up on even _pretending_ to pay attention.

Just as Mrs. Connelly turned to write something on the board, she was interrupted a rap at the door.

Turning back around, she waddled towards the back of the class, opening the door to reveal a weary-eyed Scott Banks, standing there in a flannel shirt and dirty work boots. The last four years having taken their toll, he was a far cry from the privileged badboy Julie remembered, his dark hair thinning and his flannel shirt straining at the buttons.

" _Geez,"_ She thought, imagining Adam's embarrassment. _"Couldn't the guy have changed clothes first?_ "

"Adam."

Wordlessly, the center grabbed his bookbag and walked out the door, the tinge of pink in his cheeks not escaping Julie's notice.

…

For the rest of the period, the chair next to her sat empty.

At lunch, she noticed that he was _still_ gone, his absence felt as she realized that she didn't have anybody to steal a french fry from. Still, as she sat there eating her turkey sandwich, she mostly felt that she'd been given a reprieve; the empty spot beside her making it easier not to think about the conversation she knew was coming.

Similarly, seventh period trigonometry came and went, a certain cute preppy nowhere to be found.

 _He probably just had grandparents come to town_.

As practice arrived, though, her heart sank when Coach Wilson asked where he was.

After all, missing a few classes was one thing. Even missing a practice wasn't out of the question. What sent a chill down her spine, though, was the fact that _Coach Wilson_ didn't know where he was.

While The Banks family may have taken a lackadaisical approach to telling teachers who was doing what, Phil could hardly go an hour without talking to Glenn Wilson.

Still, as shot after shot flew past her, Julie tried to shake the thoughts out of her head.

 _Phil probably just forgot this time_.

….

After practice, she walked back to the boys' dorm with Guy, hoping to find Adam in bed, a pen in his mouth, catching up on the day's homework. When she found his bed sitting empty, she straightened Suge Knight's tie on the way out and walked back to her dorm, feeling dejected.

Back at her desk, she called every number for him she could think of, yet to no avail. Even Scott's cell phone and pager went unanswered; a rarity for the guy who's life revolved around selling coke and getting laid.

Finally, after seven phone calls, there was nothing left to try. Looking over at her alarm, she realized that it was already past eight, the evening having slipped away with little to show for it. Worried or not, she had a mountain of homework to tackle, and she knew that if she procrastinated much longer, she'd be up half the night.

Doing her best to ignore the pit in her stomach, she gathered her books and headed down to the commons room, preferring it to her own distraction filled dorm.

Setting out thick tome for A.P. History, she got to work; the endless paragraphs about World War I helping to calm her racing mind.

….

"Sleepy?"

Noticing that their conversation had petered out, she looked over saw that Adam had slowly slouched further and further, until he was essentially laying across the floor, his head propped up at a 90-degree angle against the bottom of the sofa.

"Nah, just getting comfortable."

"That…doesn't look very comfortable." She smiled, reaching up to grab a throw pillow off the loveseat for him.

Handing it to him, he slid the rest of the way down, curling up with the needlepoint pillow of a whale's tail under his head. Wiggling around until he finally found a comfortable position, he sighed with contentment.

"Has anyone told you that you're the best?"

"Heh, you're not too bad, yourself."

Grabbing another throw pillow, she laid down beside him, looking up the candy stripe canopy above.

"You really do have an impressive variety of sheets." She laughed, glancing over at the sleepy hedge-funder beside her.

"Well of course. That's why people move to the suburbs, you know—more room for all the different sheets."

"I _knew_ it!"

….

February 27, 2000

"Julie?"

In her mind, she was floating through outer space…a different outer space, one filled with cotton candy and licorice. Riding a spaceship made of taffy, she reached out and grabbed a bit of Jupiter, it's atmosphere blue raspberry flavored.

"Julie?"

"Mnn"

The voice beside her not registering, she continued on her way, floating out towards Saturn and it's bright, gummy rings.

"Julie"

This time the voice was a bit louder, snapping her back to Earth.

Opening her eyes, she cursed the end of her delicious space exploration, blinking as the florescent lights above seared at her corneas.

" _Guess I feel asleep."_ She realized, looking down to see that her trigonometry textbook was dotted with drool.

Groggy, she turned and noticed Adam standing behind her, still in the Harvard sweatshirt and chinos he'd had on earlier that day.

"Oh, hey. I'd tried calling you all evening. Where've you been?"

Reaching up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she caught a glimpse at the time on her lavender Baby-G watch.

" _2:15?"_ She realized with a start _. "What's he doing in here at 2:15?"_

Her attention piqued, she looked back over at him, glancing up and down for some clue as to what was going on.

His chinos were a bit rumpled, and his hair wasn't quite as tidy as it had been that morning. As he stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor, she couldn't tell that something _wasn't right_. The sparkle in his eyes was missing, replaced with a deep blue abyss that left her unsettled.

"You okay?"

For a moment, the words just hung in the air, Adam not saying a thing as he shifted his weight onto his heels.

"My dad died."

 _Oh my God_.

Snapped from her daze, she got up and wrapped her arms tightly around the boy standing in front of her, holding him as tightly as she could.

"I'm so sorry." She repeated, her face buried against his maroon sweatshirt. "I'm so, so sorry."


	6. Please Come Back

An hour later, the joy of being together again was no longer enough to fight off the sandman. Glancing back over, Adam's eyelids had gone from heavy to closed, the side of his face nestled into the throw pillow.

"You need some help up?" She asked, lightly nudging his arm.

"I'm good." He muttered, "Night night."

Gathering the candy wrappers and pitcher of sangria to take back to the kitchen, Julie felt torn.

On one hand, he _did_ look awfully comfortable, and it seemed a shame to wake him again.

On the other, she suspected that the floor would seem far less comfortable as the night wore on, and she was pretty sure he was going to have a hard time fixing the situation by himself.

Walking back into the living room, she paused for a moment, finally grabbing a tan and white cashmere throw from their blanket moat. Placing it over him, she knelt down and tucked it around his shoulders, hoping to make him as comfortable as possible.

 _Hopefully he won't regret this too much in the morning_.

"Night night, my sweet prom king." She whispered, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before she got back up. "I love you."

.

Making her way back up the steps, she once again found herself drawn to the upstairs gallery wall, and the old hockey trophies that dotted the built-ins along the hallway. Looking at the photos from national championships gone by, and of a much younger Adam frolicking on a beach with Laura, both arms wrapped around her, it sunk in that _he'd_ never seen that part of the house. That the things that made his lovely mansion a home were a mystery to him, _his_ world one of threadbare Persian rugs and oil paintings mined from his parents' house.

 _He's missing all the best parts_.

* * *

March 2, 2000

 _Ama-zing grace_

 _How sweet the sound_

Sitting back in the pew at St. Stephens, Julie scooted around, trying to adjust her black shift dress. Though it had looked fine in the mirror, as she sat down, she realized she was exposing a bit more thigh than she'd intended…a fact only made worse by the fact that she was surrounded by tight lipped mourners three times her age.

 _That saved_

 _A wretch_

 _Like me_

Next to her sat Adam, the dark circles under his eyes all but matching his suit.

Wearing his dad's Rolex and engraved signet ring, Julie couldn't help but notice that the last vestiges of boyhood were gone; his black sport watch now relegated to the same pile of castoffs as the oversized polo shirts and jeans that didn't quite fit. As she took in the handsome man next to her, she couldn't help but miss the awkward seventh grader of her earlier memories. The kid who had stumbled over his words and teared up after Bombay benched him was relatable. This…wasn't.

Instead, he and Scott sat side by side, looking like perfect, manicured shells.

For four days, she'd been waiting for tears. Or anger. Or denial. Or yelling.

Or…something. Anything.

.

She'd only been to two funerals before—one for a great aunt in Kennebunk, and the other for Hans. At both, there had been a scattering of people, but those people were crying and holding one another. There had been tearful eulogies from family and friends that reminisced on old recipes, and funny quirks, and stories that had occurred long before she was born. Though she had barely known either person, she'd left the funerals mourning the loss of their presence, and celebrating a life well-lived.

Now forty-five minutes into the service, there were still no tears. No stories of high school pranks, or failed attempts at barbequing. A priest, an old colleague, and Adam had all given their eulogies, yet each speech covered the same bases: That Phillip had worked hard. That he had been good at his job. That he had provided well.

The entire time that she listened to Adam's measured words, she thought of her own dad, and his predilection for Harley-Davidson shirts even though he didn't own a motorcycle. She thought of the way he'd sing along to Jimmy Buffet as he fixed omelets on Saturday mornings, and the rusted 1982 Honda Accord that sat idle in their backyard, even though her mom always griped that it was making them look like a couple of hillbillies. She thought of the way he'd play hockey in the driveway with her and her brothers, and come home every Friday with a grocery bag full of candy and Ding Dongs, and his insistence every summer that the Red Sox would finally win a world series.

He wasn't perfect, but he was a _person_. A person who was loved and cared for, and who made their sprawling 70's ranch with the worn carpet and sponge painted walls feel like a home.

All of that felt like such a contrast to the packed pews of St. Stephens, and the bland platitudes about perseverance.

 _._

An hour into the service, Bunny finally got up to speak, her black stilettos click-clacking against the wood floor as walked to the front.

"Phillip and I married 26 years ago…" she began, looking down at the piece of white printer paper in front of her. "We met when I was interning at his firm. For 27 years, he-"

Her voice cracking further with each word, Bunny looked out across the sea of black wool and tight chignons and shook her head. Tearing up the piece of paper in her hand, she could be heard muttering 'screw this'.

"You know what?" She began again, louder this time. "Phillip was a real asshole. It-it was a mistake. It was all a mistake. I…don't really know why I didn't get the abortion. I should have. They were legal by then. I should have gone back to Yale.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Scott. But you know it's the truth."

Too captivated by the disaster unfolding at the altar, Julie didn't notice the commotion going on beside her until she felt the vibration of the pew and saw Scott shoving Adam back into his seat.

"Let her talk."

Adam struggled against the elbow pinning him, but even after four years, Scott had the size advantage.

"I just. This wasn't the life I wanted. Not…not with him. Damn bastard…"

As anger started to trail off into a quieter despair, an older gentleman started making his way towards the front of the church.

"Sylvia, I think you've had a rough week. How about you—"

"Shut the fuck up, Jack!"

No longer restraining Adam, Scott was now the one charging towards the front the church, Adam trailing behind, trying to hold back his brother.

"Scott. You sit back dow—"

Before long, the older man was on the ground, Scott sending his fist into the guy's jaw.

"You fucking kid diddling piece of shit."

Every punch and every obscenity echoed through the church as a silence overtook the sanctuary. Suddenly the focus was not on Bunny or Scott, but on Scott's words. Concerned women looked over at the husbands and sons, their eyebrows asking the things they couldn't bear to say.

Before Julie could process what was happening, Adam had stormed out the back doors and into the frigid March air, nary a word spoken.

* * *

The next morning, Julie got up at eight. The sun shining in through the chintz curtains, she lay in bed for a moment, basking in the suburban grandeur of it all.

No honking traffic fourteen stories below. No garbage trucks or jackhammers or buildings going up next door. No "minimalist" West Elm furniture that seemed to start sagging the minute it left the showroom. Just an endless expanse of pristine lawns, long, winding driveways, and high thread count chintz.

With one last yawn, she pried herself from bed and made her way downstairs, the smell of bacon wafting through the air as NPR played on the radio.

Down in the kitchen, Laura was preparing breakfast, the blanket fort long put away as Adam slumbered on the living room floor.

"Ah, why good morning, Julie!" She greeted, looking up from the pan of gravy she was stirring. "Anything in particular you'd like for breakfast?"

Her shoulder length bob already coiffed and her seersucker robe neatly pressed, Julie could feel the sense of inadequacy rising in her throat as she looked down at her own ratty Dartmouth shirt and mismatched socks.

"I'm fine with anything."

"Well, I have biscuits and gravy going for the boys and Adam, but if you'd like something else, I don't mind. I can always fix French toast or waffles…"

" _I can always fix French toast or waffles."_ Julie mocked in her head, _"Or I can harvest some oranges from our indoor solarium for fresh squeezed orange juice, or I can go borrow the neighbor's cow, or I can hunt down a unicorn and slaughter it for sparkly, rainbow bacon…_ "

"Don't worry. Biscuits and gravy are fine."

"Then biscuits and gravy it shall be. Feel free to make yourself at home. We have coffee, orange juice, apple juice, sparkling water, champagne. Or, there's a full liquor cabinet over in the dining room, if you'd like."

 _Did these people rob a Wegmans?_

Just as she was walking over to the refrigerator, a cell phone alarm started chiming in the living room, the crescendo of beeps accompanied by a sleepy "fuuuuck".

As Julie reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of Perrier, the sleepy obscenities continued, growing louder and more frustrated by the second. Laura, meanwhile, simply stirred the gravy, stifling a chuckle at the morning theatrics.

"Aren't you sad you never got married?" She remarked, never looking up from the stove. "Men are just so lovely."

Unscrewing the lid on her water, Julie could hear glass shattering over in the living room, the clatter accompanied by a yelp of pain.

"Fucking shit!"

Startled, she set down drink down on the counter to investigate, unprepared for what she was about to face.

 **...**

Walking into the living room, it took every ounce of self-control she had to keep her jaw from dropping as she surveyed the disaster in front of her.

There, lying sprawled across the floor was her first love, just as she'd left him the night before. The difference was, _now_ his front teeth were laying out beside him, and his shirt had ridden up in the night, leaving his surprisingly large gut hanging out in full view.

Beside him lie a broken wineglass, and with every sleepy movement, he was painting himself in blood.

 _What in the fuck?_

"You uh, you need some help there?"

"Fucking floor." He muttered, his eyes still matted with sleep. "Damn towelhead fucking rug."

"It's good to see somebody's still the morning person I remember." Julie laughed, recalling the grouchy morning practices of yesteryear as she averted her eyes.

 _Pretty sure it's going to take more than two cups of coffee to fix THIS_.

"Meh, you're just jealous you don't wake up as sexy as I do."

"The envy's been eating away at me since high school."

"It's okay." He smiled, exposing the black abyss where his teeth were supposed to be. "I love you even if you can't be as sexy as I am."

"Yeah, you're setting the bar pretty high there, cakeeater…

Taking hold of his hand to help him up, she brought the bloodied appendage in closer, her brow furrowed with concern as the examined the deep cut along his palm and the shard of glass still lodged near his index finger.

"Are you alright?"

"Heh, of course I am." Glancing himself up and down, he took note of the streaks of blood he'd left down his shirt and pajama pants, letting out a chuckle as he thought about it all. "You don't get to be _this_ good looking by being the kind of guy who falls apart over a little cut."

Reaching down to pick up his teeth and cane for him, she put an arm around him for support as they made their way to the master bedroom and en suite bathroom.

"What am I ever going to do with you?" She sighed, re-examining the glass shard in his finger.

"Nag me about switching to plastic?"

"That probably would be a good idea in your case."

Digging through the cabinets for tweezers and gauze, she did her best to ignore the contents of his drawers, dozens of pill bottles, a marijuana pipe, and cigarette lighters all clattering about as she rummaged through a drawer by the sink.

 _Tsk tsk, oh preppy one._

Catching her glance, he gave an innocent shrug.

"What?"

Shaking her head, she gently took hold of his hand again, this time dabbing his cuts with peroxide as he tried not to flinch.

"I think you might be a mess."

"You just _think_ that?"

* * *

March 2, 2000

"Adam!" Julie shouted, chasing after him in her shift dress and heels. "Adam, wait for me."

Desperate to catch up with him as he bolted from the church, Julie abandoned what little decorum she had left, kicking off her black pumps as she ran down the aisle and into the frigid March air.

"Adam!"

Her voice trailed off into thin air as he climbed into his Porsche and sped away. Crumpling to the curb, she buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

.

She wasn't sure of exactly _what_ she'd lost, but she was all too aware that _something_ was gone.

"Come back, Adam." She muttered to herself. "Please come back."

 **…..**

For what felt like hours, she sat out there alone, the icy wind beating against her skin.

.

"Julie?"

Feeling a jacket drape over her shoulders, she looked up, and was greeted by a familiar set of blue eyes.

Lowering himself down beside her, Scott ran a hand through his thinning hair and sighed, every second of his twenty-six years showing as he contemplated the right words.

"Want my mom to adopt you? Because between my dad and Susan, we should have a couple of openings…

* * *

Ten minutes later, Adam's hand was neatly bandaged, and the morning's crisis had been averted. As she left him alone to shower and get ready, she couldn't help but spend a moment snooping around his bedroom, her cat-like curiosity hidden by the sound of the shower.

" _Yup. The preppy I remember is definitely still in there somewhere."_ She thought as she looked around the room, smiling.

.

For all of his issues, his adult bedroom really _was_ as charming as his teenage dorm had been so many years before. The white, Georgian paneled walls overflowed with interesting, colorful art, and Mr. Fluffy could still be found sitting on a Queen Ann chair by the bed. Suge Knight stood guard in the corner, dressed for summer in a grass skirt and bikini top. On the dresser were a scattering of pewter frames, featuring he and Laura on their wedding night, cutting into a cake that towered over them both, and of he and the boys at their old house, standing beside a 6 ft. tall snowman dressed in a tie and sunglasses, Adam beaming with pride.

Glancing over at his nightstand, Julie shook her head as she noticed that next to the copies of The Wall Street Journal and The Economist sat a crystal ashtray, nearly overflowing with cigarette butts and partially finished joints.

 **…**

An hour later, when Adam returned from the bathroom, he was a man transformed, his bandaged hand the only bit of continuity from earlier that morning. Now bright eyed and looking like a young Harrison Ford, he seemed to have washed away about thirty pounds in the shower; a phenomenon that left Julie staring at his chambray shirt and white chinos, trying to figure out where exactly everything _went_.

 _It's like that Volkswagen at the circus, where 100 clowns climb out_ …

.

"Why good morning." He greeted, still rubbing the stiffness out of his neck from the night before. Pausing, he glanced over at the plate on the counter, his eyes lighting up. "Biscuits and gravy? Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"

Leaning over, he gave Laura a quick kiss before reaching for his coffee.

"You don't love me. You're just using me for my gravy making abilities."

"Well, it was between you or the Waffle House cook…" He deadpanned, reaching over for a piece of bacon from the serving platter.

"I'm certainly glad you made the choice you did!"

"Heh, well, Brandi turned me down, so it wasn't really much of a choice."

Laura chuckled, sitting down beside him at the kitchen island. Massaging the back of his still-stiff neck, he seemed to melt into her, letting out a sigh of contentment as she brought him some much needed relief.

"And whoever said you were my first choice?" She pointed out, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"I mean, I'd certainly hope I wasn't. That would be aiming pretty low.

.

"So Jules." He added a moment later, between bites of bacon, "What are your plans for the morning? Because I've got a busy day of meeting with my psychiatrist and sobbing alone in my car afterwards, so that leaves you with your pick of going to the mall with Laura and the kids, or Netlfix and chilling in the way that involves clothes.

"Or not. I mean, you'll have the house to yourself. But the couch has survived three disgusting kids, so I recommend clothes."

* * *

March 2, 2000

"Adam?"

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah"

There, in an empty parking lot overlooking the Mississippi River, the two sat side by side in his warm Porsche, freezing sleet falling all around them as Adam stared out the windshield.

Leaning against the heated seat, Julie just looked at the man next to her.

Begging him, begging the universe for answers.

And yet, no matter how hard she looked, she got nothing. He was an island unto himself.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"No."

"Do you want to talk about what happened in there with Scott?"

"Nope."

"Do you realize that I love you?"

"Yeah."

Finally, at a loss for anything else to say, she simply took hold of his hand and held it, rubbing the rough callouses with her fingers. Looking down, she smiled—the watch and signet ring were different, but his fingernails were still gnawed down to non-existent nubs.

That was one tiny piece of him that had never changed. That silly little piece of her first crush was still there.


	7. Southdale

Author's note: Apologies that this chapter is a bit short. Things just seemed to flow better with this chapter separate from the next, length be damned.

* * *

Though the Banks' down filled sofa beckoned, Julie had already discovered that her sleep deprived packing skills left a bit to be desired—she had no fewer than six outfits to get her through the next two days, but no clean underwear.

Faced with little alternative, she saw her Netflix dreams vanish before her very eyes, replaced instead with a trip to The Southdale Mall, right alongside three kids who had zero desire to spend their morning buying clothes for sailing camp. By 10 a.m., Julie found herself in the front seat of an aging Toyota Land Cruiser, a half-eaten Happy Meal down by her feet.

" _I think I can tell who spends more time with the kids_." She thought, moving the fries and crayons from the cupholder.

"Maaaaaahhhhhm, Tucker's looking at me!" Will whined from the backseat as the sun beamed in.

"Shut up, dickhead. I'm not even looking at you."

"You shut up, assbrain!"

"You hear that, Mom? Will said ass."

"Did not, assbrain!"

"Dickwipe."

"Tucker Tucker butt fucker"

"Will Will Mom should have took her pill!"

"Maaaahhhhm, did you hear that?"

"Mom, Will hit me!"

"He hit me first."

"Did not"

"Did to"

"Did not"

"Did too"

"Shut up, Dickbreath!"

"Mom, he called me Dickbreath."

 _And people talk about defunding Planned Parenthood?_

"Cum licker"

"Bitch tits"

"Knob gozzler"

"It's knob _guzzler_." Laura pointed out, her weary gaze never veering from the traffic ahead. 'Besides, that one never made much anatomical sense, anyway. You can't guzzle a solid object. That's like calling someone a cup guzzler, or a coffee table guzzler."

Leaning back against the plush leather, Julie stared out at the expanse of suburban consumerism that stretched out in front of her, the argument in the backseat continuing to rage. Now well past the Banks' leafy, tree lined neighborhood, the circular driveways and stately colonials had given way to eight lane boulevards, clogged with other massive SUVs.

In a business move that seemed to defy all comprehension, every two blocks, they passed another Target and Starbucks, the combination leaving Julie to ponder just how many frappucinos and novelty throw pillows Minnesotans were consuming every week.

"Mommmmmyyyy" A softer voice whined from directly behind Julie, "I need to use the potty."

"Shut up."

"Don't tell your sister to shut up."

" _Yeaaah_ , don't tell Caroline to shut up, fuckface."

 _I reallllllly made the right choice._

 **…...**

Thirty-nine minutes, seven miles, and two bathroom stops later, they had finally reached the mall, Julie having made a mental note to start donating more to the local abortion providers.

Walking through the glass double doors of Southdale, she could see the pink and black Victoria's Secrete façade glimmering in the distance, the pink neon a beacon of hope. Never in her life had she dreamed that 5 for $25 panties could hold such promise.

As Laura made the fateful trek down to J.C. Penney's, Julie just stood there in the concourse, thanking God above for delivering her from the bowels of hell. Watching Tucker and Will take turns punching one another as they walked towards the department store, she found herself thinking that federal prison actually sounded pretty nice; far preferable to the alternative.

* * *

March 11, 2000

" _Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, my sexy birthday boy, happy birthday to you._ "

Julie had turned out the lights in her dorm room, but the 19 candles on the store bought cake illuminated everything, giving an ambience to the cramped dorm and dollar store party decorations.

In the magic of the warm candlelight, the homemade computer paper banner, unevenly draped streamers, and wilted balloons hanging behind Adam could _almost_ pass as charming, just as Julie could _almost_ pass as domestically inclined.

…

The overachieving goalie had never been Martha Stewart, and never was she more aware of that fact than at holiday time. Every year, she would peruse cookbooks from the library and imagine the beautiful party decorations she _could_ create, determined that this would be the year when she would give him the celebration he deserved. _And_ , every year, a few days after those fantasies, she would arrive back at her dorm room with a sad looking cake from Econofoods and an even sadder bag of balloons and streamers and wrapping paper that, try as she might, would always look like exactly what they were: $8 worth of inartfully arranged crap.

This year, with things being what they were, she was more determined than ever to give him the type of birthday he deserved. Whether their relationship was winding down or not, she still wanted to him to have a nice 19th birthday; the kind of day to take his mind off of estate settlements and the 200 lb. hole left in his family.

Determination, however, did not translate into aptitude, and no amount of effort or good intentions could save her underinflated balloons and copy paper banner. Spread out over five sheets of paper, the words 'Happy Birthday' read as 'Hap pyBirt hda y', and the tattered blue and green streamers sagged in all of the wrong places. Under the harsh florescent lighting, there was no denying that her decorating attempts had fallen flat. That everything about the situation was being held together with scotch tape, destined to fall apart at any moment.

In the flickering candlelight, however, the room looked pretty nice.

In the flickering candlelight, _everything_ looked pretty nice.

* * *

Four hours later, Laura and Julie returned to the sprawling colonial, Caroline now covered in chocolate, and Will dripping with water, courtesy of an impromptu swim in the mall fountain.

"Why do they talk about the decline in child abductions like it's a _good_ thing?" Laura pondered aloud, her fourth grade son squeaking across the kitchen.

.

Looking out through the French doors, Julie could see Adam out on the veranda, sprawled across an outdoor sofa with a glass of gin hand.

" _These people really know how to make life look good."_ Julie thought, eyeing the manicured boxwoods and chinoiserie urns.

Walking outside to join, Adam sat up to make room on the couch, the awkwardness of his movement not escaping Julie. As he reached for the coffee table to help pull himself up, she couldn't help but notice the short grimace of pain that shot across his face, and the way that his limbs no longer moved in any natural harmony. Reminded of how disabled he really was, she felt guilty for disturbing him.

"So what did you spend your morning doing?" she asked, sitting down beside him.

"Exactly what I said earlier. You have fun at the mall?"

"There's really nothing like Southdale with three kids to affirm that whole 'childless' thing..."

"See, now that's why I really recommend being a _dad_." He pointed out, smiling. "Not that New Age bullshit where you wear your kid in your manbun or something—the regular kind, where you go to one or two of their hockey games a year, and everyone makes a big deal about it."

"You really are a beacon of enlightenment."

"I have faith that you could be a dad, too."

"I don't think that's how it works…" Julie chuckled, leaning back against the other end of the sofa.

"Well, if Bruce Jenner gets to be a mom, I don't see why you can't be a dad. Besides, you can open jars, and you have a _way_ better job than I do!"

"Are you implying I'm more of a man than you?"

"If the strap-on fits."

"Wha—" She shook her head, laughing. "I would be offended, but I'm not sure which of us that's really more insulting _to_."

"Heh, don't worry." He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners as the sun washed him in a flattering glow. "You're way hotter than any guy. And you smell better."

"You've always smelled pretty good…"

" _My_ hair doesn't smell like coconut."

"I don't think that's like, inherent to being a woman. I think that's because I use coconut shampoo. Yours would smell the same if _you_ used coconut shampoo."

"For like, five minutes." He reminded her, looking back down at his now empty glass. Swirling it around, he lifted crystal lowball to his lips, trying to get one last drink amid the ice cubes. "You also make better life choices than I do. Mine would smell like cigarettes and pot smoke by noon."

Pausing for a moment, Julie looked back over at her first love with concern, chewing at the side of her lip.

.

He was as beautiful as she remembered, and every bit as charming. More than anything, though, she longed for him to be _okay_. To go back to the days when he seemed stronger than his demons.

.

"What ever happened to the good little hockey nerd who wouldn't even drink soda?"

"Technically nothing. That's like, the one bad habit I don't have.

"Besides," He added with a soft smile, "I think that person was more a figment of Duck imagination than anything else. My friends and I were like, building potato bongs by fifth grade. I just didn't _talk_ about that stuff like Portman..."

Julie simply nodded.

"I wish you would have talked more."

"Me too."


	8. Then What Do You Want to Do?

Author's note: To my two lovely guest reviewers, thank you so much for your kind words! It always makes my day to know that somebody else is enjoying this story.

* * *

March 16, 2000

Even as the pages of the calendar started to peel away, and the days grew longer, winter refused to release its icy grip. Outside, sleet pelted the windows; all of Minnesota painted in a sleepy grey.

Inside, Julie and Adam snuggled on the Banks' sofa, a fire crackling. Together, they sat surrounded by a moat of textbooks and notecards; the formulas and vocabulary words and dates of wars keeping the larger world at bay.

…

With the Eden Hall library packed, and their dorms growing claustrophobic, the two had decided to head a mile down the road so they could study in peace. Bunny asleep upstairs, and Scott back at his apartment downtown, the Banks' mansion _did_ provide a lovely escape from the hoards of stressed 16 year olds cramming for midterms. However, the longer they spent memorizing formulas and re-writing equations, the louder the _real_ questions on their minds grew.

"So you've really decided against Harvard?" Julie asked, her head resting against Adam's shoulder as she watched a log burn in the fireplace, a few errant sparks shooting out across the marble.

"Yeah. I'm just…I don't think I'm really the Harvard-type."

"If _you_ aren't the Harvard-type, I don't know who is."

"Heh, I don't know.

Looking out across the Georgian paneled living room, the answer seemed obvious to Adam. Right above the fireplace hung a 4 ft. tall painting of tight-lipped British men on a fox hunt. Sitting atop their horses in spiffy red coats, they literally looked down on him every day. Always there to judge his every move.

 _Even our art knows I'm not good enough_.

"I mean, you are. You'll be great at Dartmouth. But you've even said it yourself—Harvard is for people who want to like, travel the world, and speak French, and eat sushi-"

"It's just fish."

" _Uncooked_ fish." He reminded her. "Our ancestors invented fire for a reason."

"Whatever. They have cooked fish, too."

"Or do they? _Technically_ , I have zero proof that they have cooked fish in anywhere in Boston. Or even that Boston exists. The whole place might have been made up lure Midwesterners to their deaths."

"You are _way_ weirder than people give you credit for."

"I do what I can."

"Well fine, if you don't want to go to Harvard, what _do_ you want to do?"

"Play hockey."

"I mean, what _else_ do you want to do?"

This time, Adam sat quieter, her question one that had hung in the back of his mind for the last four years. Ever since the day Dr. Chen had told him his hockey career was over, he'd questioned what life held after. What he'd do once his body could no longer absorb the crushing hits. For four years, he'd tried to come up with a satisfactory answer, and for four years, he'd come up short.

His arms still around her, he once again pulled her in close as he leaned down to kiss the top of her forehead.

"I don't know. The families in the Lands' End catalog always look pretty happy."

"You want to live in a clothing catalog?"

"It looks like a nice life." He pointed out. "Plus, you'd never be lacking for sweaters."

"True."

"Julie. Do you take me, Adam, to be your catalog husband—provider of rain jackets and $40 jeans—in summer and winter, back to school _and_ Christmas, for as long as we both shall live?" He asked, holding her so close that she could feel his heart beating through his cashmere sweater.

"I do."

"Perfect. Then I have everything I want."

* * *

Still lounging together outside as the birds chirped from afar, Julie realized that the afternoon was slipping away, one leisurely glass of gin and tonic at a time.

"So." She asked, looking back over at Adam. "Have you thought about what time we want to head over to Charlie's? It's past three, and I don't know how long it takes to get there."

"New Hope?" He shrugged, "Like, 20 minutes.

"Are you sure you don't want me to just drop you off?"

Julie looked back over at him, shaking her head.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm pretty sure about that, Cakeeater. Besides, why _wouldn't_ you go?"

Massaging the back of his neck, he sat quiet for a brief moment. Staring out into the distance, he focused on the nearby Minnehaha Lake, and the way its water glistened in the sun.

"You were always more of a Duck than I was."

"You spent two years as captain."

"Warrior captain. I was the varsity Warrior captain. I'm pretty sure that makes me the anti-Charlie."

As he reached over for a cigarette off the end table, Julie averted her eyes, suddenly _very_ transfixed by the time on her watch.

Though not the chainsmoker his dad and brother had been, Julie still found herself bothered by his periodic bouts of smoking.

Sure, he always had a drink in hand, and sure, his bathroom cabinets were littered with pill bottles of Vicodin and Percocet and OxyContin. Sure, she'd noticed enough pipes and rolling papers discreetly stashed away to put any teenage stoner to shame, and yes, she _had_ heard the rumors that he'd at one point devolved into a heroin junkie, shooting up in the company bathroom at his old job. Still, somehow all of that was different.

Cigarettes, more than anything, seemed a cruel departure from her happier memories. More than the rest, they reminded her that her beloved hockey star was long gone. That he'd never again be the boy she remembered; gliding across the ice that day in the Coon Rapids practice arena.

"Considering Charlie's reign at the helm of JV?" She chuckled, forcing herself out of her thoughts. "I don't think anybody was too heartbroken by the change."

"I don't know.

His good hand still bandaged from that morning, he fumbled in vain with his lighter, the flame flickering for a second before petering out. "They were more your friends than mine. Besides, this _is_ a really comfortable sectional."

"You and Laura do pick out good furniture.

"But seriously." She added. "Everyone misses you. Besides, I think it would be good for you to have a little more diversity in your life."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I've creeped on your Facebook." She laughed, curling her knees up against her chest as she thought back to the pictures of him and Scott at the lake, or of he and Reid up in the Golden Gophers skybox, drinking beer in their matching Patagonia pullovers and gold watches. "I know that your social life consists of your brother and Larson."

"So? They're good guys."

"No argument there. But I do think there's something to be said for _occasionally_ talking to people who don't have Rolexes."

"Rolexes are pretty cheap." He shrugged, still fiddling with the lighter. "I think most people have one."

"I rest my case. Also, how _did_ you ever survive prison?"

"Hey now! Fifteen years of hockey followed by ten more of investment banking? I'm pretty sure I'm tougher than any tax evading accountant!"

"Yeah, you're totally what I think of when I think of tough guys."

Adam just smiled, his eyes once again crinkling shut.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

 **…..**

A short time later, Julie was back upstairs getting ready for the evening while Adam sat down in the living room, indulging Caroline's desire to watch Frozen for the 9,000th time. As Julie shimmied into her favorite white sundress, she could hear the strains of 'Let it Go' coming up through the vents…complete with a rather off-key, distinctly _male_ addition to the ensemble.

 _And to think people ragged on him for being gay?_

 _I'm pretty sure the gay ones aren't this musically challenged..._

Still, she smiled as she thought back to the sight of him and Caroline snuggled up on the sofa, Adam dawning a silver wand and plastic tiara with his chambray shirt.

 _He really is pretty adorable_.

Reaching into her suitcase organizer, she rummaged around for a pair of earrings and the right necklace, pulling out a familiar diamond pendant. As she clasped the gold chain around her neck, she thought back to the boy who gave it to her twenty-one years earlier, and the hopes of forever she'd felt as he helped her put it on, his warm, calloused fingers brushing against her skin.

* * *

April 3, 2000

"And you don't even want to _try_?"

Adam sat across from her on the bed, his jaw set, but his brows furrowed in concern.

The conversation had been put off for over a month, but as the dogwoods began to bloom and the talk around school shifted from hockey to prom and graduation, Julie knew there was no putting it off any longer. Like it or not, they _were_ going to be graduating soon, and Adam _was_ going to have to figure out what he was doing after high school.

Alone.

Without her.

"I just…I think it'll be better this way."

Adam sighed, running a hand through his sandy fringe.

"What if—what if I did go ahead and go to Harvard? I haven't committed to Minnesota yet. What if I was in Boston, and we were only like three hours apart?"

Julie paused for a moment, chewing on the side of her lip.

The thought was tempting.

She _did_ , after all, want him to go to Harvard. And a piece of her _did_ want to try to make it work.

But she also knew that she'd only be delaying the inevitable—that even if Harvard and Dartmouth would be good bedfellows, the NHL and Dartmouth would not be.

"Yeah, but that's…that's not the point."

Clutching her pillow in tighter, she took a deep breath before she continued, hoping that she was making the right choice.

"I mean, yeah, we could probably make it work for a year, but then what? You'll go off the NHL, and before long, I'll be applying for medical school. What are we supposed to do then?"

"Fuck, I don't know. Whatever it is that people do?" He shrugged, tearing at a loose piece of fingernail as he leaned back against the wall. "I mean, there are these cool things called 'planes'—I've heard you can take them from one place to another. It's a pretty good system, really."

"I'm serious."

"I'm serious, too."

"I just—I don't know. I—I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

"I can't spend the rest of my life with you."

It had been the most decisive thing she'd said all day, and before the words even left her mouth, she knew they were true.

Still, they hung in the air, swallowing up all of the oxygen in the room.

True or not, they hurt.

For a moment, they both just sat there. Processing.

Finally, Adam got up from the bed and put on his jacket, tears starting to well in his eyes.

"Fuck you." He muttered as he walked towards the door, refusing to look back.

Reaching for the door handle, the whole room turned to a watery mess as he choked back snot and tears. She was the one thing he loved more than hockey, and now she didn't love him back. Maybe she never had.

"I don't love you, either." He shouted back from the safety of the hallway, his wounded ego convinced that hurting her would somehow make it all better. "I hope some patient gives you AIDS!"

"And I hope some goon knocks out all of your teeth!"

" _Not really_." She thought, clutching her pillow in even tighter.

 _You have really nice teeth. I hope you get to keep them_.

* * *

"Wow. You look…as gorgeous as ever." Adam commented as Julie walked down the stairs, his eyes drawn to her toned legs and the way that her little white sundress skimmed her every curve.

With Caroline snuggled up in his lap, he found himself saying a quick prayer of thanks for the fact that things downstairs were no longer terribly responsive, the recalcitrance of the troops suddenly a blessing in disguise.

 _At least Viagra's covered by insurance. Childhood therapy isn't._

Glancing his first love up and down, he unconsciously found himself pulling Caroline in tighter, hoping to cover his doughy midsection.

Next to Julie, he felt even more self-conscious than usual, thinking back to the mangled pile of flesh that he stared at in the mirror each morning.

Every day, it seemed, the march of time further took its toll. No amount of diet or exercise or physical therapy or good tailoring quite able to hide the way that injuries had warped every inch; the way that nothing was shaped the way it was supposed to be anymore.

" _Forget 'Body by Bowflex'."_ He thought to himself. " _I've got 'Body by Picasso'_."

"Why thank you." Julie smiled, her cheeks flushing pink at the compliment. "You look pretty wonderful, yourself."

As she reached into her purse to double check that she'd remembered her phone and wallet, Adam took the opportunity to discreetly adjust his medical-grade abdominal binder, eager to relieve a pain in his rib.

.

On one hand, the binder _did_ do a nice job of supporting his back and keeping the doughier parts held in place. On the other hand, it was hot, and it dug into his ribcage; always jutting in at the most miserable angles possible.

.

"Well are you ready to go, beautiful?" He asked, everything now adjusted into a more tolerable position.

"I am.

Julie smiled, eyeing the plastic tiara that he'd forgotten to take off. "I just can't believe that I'm in the presence of royalty here."

"Princess Adam at your service."

Carefully, he placed the tiara back on Caroline's head before trying to extricate himself from the sofa.

" _No_. You can't relinquish the crown that easily!"

"Don't worry, Jules." He reminded her, kissing the hand that she'd extended in order to help him up. "I don't need a crown to be a very special princess."

"No you do not."

Walking towards the door, she stopped at one point to fix the bangs of a certain 'very special princess'. Standing so close, her fingers in his sandy hair, she found herself mesmerized by _him_ ; by the way that his smile was still as perfect as ever, and by the way that he looked cuddled up with Caroline. By the way that the same march of time she wanted to Botox away had only made him more attractive; the creases around his eyes highlighting their sparkle, and the softer bits making him all the more delightful to hug.

She thought back to their promises of 'forever' when they were 17, and the way that they slow danced one last time on his wedding night; his 'forever' now belonging to someone else. Someone who wore pearls and baked muffins.

* * *

April 3, 2000

"So. Are you alright?"

For four hours, Adam had been missing in action. Not long after he left, Julie called his dorm, hoping to end things on a slightly more pleasant note. When Guy picked up, he informed her that he hadn't seen his roommate, but that he'd give her a call when he returned.

Hour after hour slowly ticked by on the clock, the knot in Julie's stomach growing as she realized it was getting dark.

She'd called his house, and later Scott, and then Larson, but still, as late evening set in, Adam was nowhere to be found. In a moment of desperation, she'd even gone so far as to send Crawford a message on AIM, but the only thing that got her was a ten minute discussion about golf.

Finally, around 9, Adam arrived back at her door, this time covered with mud and walking with a limp.

.

Jogging, as it turned out, had _not_ been the wisest way to clear his head.

At least, not in loafers. Not when it had just rained earlier that afternoon. And not when he was paying so little attention to his surroundings. A slippery mud puddle and a concrete curb later, his lesson had been learned the hard way.

.

"I think I'll live."

Julie looked down at the ripped knee of his khakis and shook her head, the mess in front of her strangely fitting for how she felt.

"You look pretty pitiful."

"Oddly enough, Thad and the nurse both said the same thing."

"Should I even ask?"

"Yeah no, Thad watched the whole thing happen. He made me go to the infirmary to get checked out…you know, once he quit laughing."

"Nice."

Sitting back down, Julie patted the bed next to her, motioning the mud monster to come join. As he complied, she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Taking hold of his hand, the two just sat in silence for a moment, no words quite right.

"Are you sure you don't need some ice or anything?" She asked, eyeing his bandaged knee.

"Nah. Thanks, though."

"You're really okay?"

"Of course."

"I still wish you'd go to Harvard, you know." She added, nuzzling her face against his cheek. Instinctively, she planted a kiss along the scar from that fateful Christmas party, just as she'd done every day since January.

 _He really is pretty wonderful._

"I mean, not for me, but for you. I think you'd really like it, and I worry that you'll regret it if you don't go."

"Heh, it's not for me

He pulled her in tighter, relishing the feeling of her body against his. Relishing the scent of her coconut shampoo, and the way that she always knew how to make him feel better about his biggest insecurities, without ever saying a word.

Over or not, she was his one true love, and he worried that he would never feel as complete without her.

"But I _do_ hope you enjoy Dartmouth."

"And I hope you enjoy Minnesota."

"I'll always love you, you know."

"I'll always love you, too."

… **.**


	9. Reunion

Sitting in the passenger seat of the Audi, Julie kept fiddling with the radio, trying to find a distraction from how _quiet_ the ride to New Hope was.

The Adam she'd been joking with mere minutes earlier was nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a guy who suddenly seemed very concerned about speed limits and blinker usage along suburban thoroughfares. As he lit another cigarette, she started to re-remember their Warrior days, this time not through the softened glow of nostalgia, but as things _actually_ were.

.

As much as she hated to admit it, they _hadn't_ been a unified team.

Their junior year, as the remaining Ducks were either moved up to varsity or cut entirely, Wilson had made Adam captain with hopes that he could help bridge the divide between them and the Warrior legacies.

And, in a way, he did: Under his leadership, hockey became the sole focus. Unlike Riley or Scooter or Charlie, he didn't particularly care about old loyalties or interpersonal dramas; he expected perfection from every player at every practice.

In terms of creating a winning team, it worked. However, it meant he never received the love those other captains did.

Once his own perfection came crashing down, there wasn't much left.

…

"I think this will be fun." She assured him, double-checking the directions on her phone.

"Yeah."

Looking back over at him, his eyes were glued to the road, his face giving little away. The fingers on his left hand drummed at the steering wheel, leaving his right side to seem all the more frozen by contrast.

"They really did care about you, you know..."

"Yeah."

"You don't say that like you believe it." She spoke softly, chewing at her bottom lip.

"I don't _not_ believe it. Just, you know…"

"They did care. They _do_ care. They're just…things are complicated sometimes."

"Yeah."

"Really. I—I think this will be good for you. I think this is something that you need."

"I think what I need is another drink."

* * *

May 16, 2000

"Dude, this isn't exactly the Oscars. People kind of show up if they feel like showing up. There isn't much I can do about it."

Charlie sat pouting on a stool by the kitchen island, while Adam filled a cooler with beer. At the other end of the island sat Julie, doing her best not to roll her eyes at the whole discussion.

.

For the last two days, Charlie and Adam had been at one another's throats over the guest list for Adam's graduation party, with Charlie annoyed that the guest list was filled with guys wore Nautica and smelled like Polo Sport, and Adam wishing that Charlie would learn to stay out of matters that weren't his business.

Julie, meanwhile, found herself more grateful than ever that she was finally going to be getting away from the never-ending Edina drama. After two days of their back and forth, she was starting to lose patience with them both.

.

"You could tell them they weren't invited."

"Yeah Charlie. I'm really going to go out there and tell them they're not invited. Because _that_ would go over well."

As Adam grabbed an armful of Bud Light, Charlie glared out a group of Breck lacrosse players who had congregated in the foyer. All four had the same gelled hair; the same frat bro swagger and the same annoying names like Parker and Conner and Todd.

 _I can't believe he'd invite those guys and leave out his own teammate._

"You didn't invite Portman."

"I didn't _not_ invite him. It's not my fault that they're here and he's not."

"I think you made it pretty clear."

Adam sighed, pausing his cooler-filling duties to open a beer for himself.

"I didn't make anything clear. I just said I was having people over. Whoever wanted to come was welcome to come."

"Yeah, but you know that's not how it works."

"That's on him. It's not like I sent any of those guys an engraved invitation begging them to come. They just came."

Purposely silent on the matter, Julie looked out the window as the two continued to argue. Arriving in packs, the Banks' yard filled with Abercrombie-clad revelers; a sea of suburban jocks and their perfect blonde girlfriends surrounding the pool.

Though she didn't mind most of them, she had to admit that Charlie had a point.

It was clear who the party was meant for, and it wasn't meant for people who had to work part-time at ShopRite to help support their families.

" _They_ feel included."

"So?"

"So you do a better job of making random Breck preps feel included than your own teammates."

Adam just shrugged.

"Okay, well, sorry if I'm nicer to people who're actually nice to me than someone who calls me a fag all the time."

"You're a bigger dick to him than he is to you."

"And how is _that_?"

"Seriously dude?" Charlie asked, his eyes growing wide. "Do you ever listen to a word you say?"

"I hardly even talk to him."

"Yeah, _that_ part is half right. The only time you ever say anything to him is to ride his ass for not being good enough."

"And what else am I supposed to do?" Adam argued, setting down his beer. "Send him a fucking singing telegram to thank him for showing up to practice on time? I mean, granted, I wouldn't have to send one very often…"

"I just don't get why you can't be nicer."

"He punched me in the face during a scrimmage. I don't exactly think _I'm_ the issue here."

"You're a punchable guy."

"Whatever."

"Seriously though." Charlie paused, his brow furrowed. "What about our last game? You called him a fuckup in front of the whole locker room."

"Well yeah. He was a fuckup. He'd been playing like shit all night."

"That was the last game. And we _won_. There wasn't any purpose to what you were doing—you were just riding him for the hell of it."

Charlie leaned back against the stool, taking another drink of his own beer. Julie, meanwhile, stared down at counter, studying the flecks in the granite.

This was _not_ the ending to their days at Eden Hall she'd been hoping for.

"It was the national championship. A Jamaican Helen Keller would have played better."

"You knew his mom was in the hospital."

"For her fucking gallbladder. If he considers shit like that a distraction, it's probably time he cut down on the creatine so he can grow some balls back."

"Yeah, well." Charlie retorted, getting up to go join the revelers outside. "I've always thought you should cut down on the Vicodin so you can grow some feelings back, but I guess everyone's just doing what they want."

"Get fucked."

* * *

Turning into the Oak Hills Estates subdivision, Julie had to suppress a giggle at the fact that there were, in fact, exactly zero oak trees, hills, or estates in sight.

There were, however, row after row of tract houses. All of which looked identical, with their beige aluminum siding, flat rooflines, and treeless, postage stamp sized yards. For what seemed like miles, the middle class homogeneity stretched out in every direction, only the occasional summer wreath or pot of geraniums differentiating one house from the next.

"They really do know how to name subdivisions…" Adam mused, sharing her sense of irony.

"I know, right?"

Looking back over at him, his face had relaxed, his fingers no longer drumming frantically at the wheel. A smile was starting to work its way up through his features, his mouth turning up at the corners.

"I'm proud of you, you know."

"Heh, not much to be proud of here." He chuckled, "But thanks anyway."

"You were a good captain.

"You were good at a lot of things."

She smiled as she watched the light return to his eyes, a hint of pink creeping through his cheeks.

"Well thank you. You were pretty amazing yourself."

Reaching over, she took hold of his right hand and gave it a squeeze, their arms resting against the leather console. As the stereo played The Revivalists ' _Soulfight'_ , she smiled at the familiar warmth of it all; the fact not escaping her that their hands still fit perfectly together.

…..

Turning onto Sycamore Terrace, Julie could see all of the cars lining the street—a mixture of bland rental cars and aging Nissans and minivans in a row.

As they neared 1604 Sycamore, she could see Connie in the front yard, catching up with Kenny and two Bash Brothers, while Kenny's wife stood a few feet away, tending to the new baby. Looking closer, she laughed when she saw that Portman hadn't completely retired his old high school wardrobe; the aging middle manager dressed in a Metallica tee and black bandana.

Glancing back at the guy beside her, she couldn't help but shake her head at the contrast between the two.

"See, now _that's_ a look you need to try." She joked, eyeing his $300 sunglasses and perfectly tailored oxford.

"Well, I would say that I don't really have the body to pull that off, but then again, I don't think that's stopping him."

"Very true"

"Then again," Adam pointed out, well aware of both the fact that he didn't have room to be judging other men's bodies _and_ unable to resist a bit of harmless flirtation. "Come to think of it, I don't really have the body to pull _this_ off, either. You might have to help me get undressed tonight."

"I can't tell if that's supposed to be a pickup line or a statement of fact," Julie joked, undoing her seatbelt.

 _Bad Pussycat._

 _Married._

 _Extremely married_.

"Well, it depends. I mean, I _had_ meant that I'm not always the best with buttons, but if you want to help me get naked and settled into bed, I'm certainly not going to stop you."

"Perv"

Looking over, Julie saw that he'd turned bright pink, even the tips of his ears and the base of his neck flushing magenta.

"That was a perfectly wholesome statement. I can't help it if you have a dirty mind."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you meant it in a _very_ wholesome way."

"I did. I did," He insisted, a smile creeping through despite his best attempts at a straight face. "I mean, _you're_ the doctor here. I'm sure you do that all the time."

"I think you've confused actual doctors with _Naughty Nurses V: Dr. Lovewood and the Boob Exam_."

"So many hospitalizations since seeing that movie." He sighed, shaking his head. "So many disappointments."

"It _really_ did create some unrealistic expectations with regards to patient care," She agreed, nodding as he found a parking spot between a rental Kia and what she presumed to be Guy's Yukon.

"I'm holding out hope. _One day_ , Dr. Lovewood will need me. And I'll be there!"

"With wood?"

"With all the wood a beaver could dream of!"

* * *

May 16, 2000

"Come on, I will if you will." Adam laughed, looking over at Charlie.

"No way. You're crazy."

"What? I've done it like, 100 times," He reassured him, stretching the truth just a tad.

 _Twice. A hundred times._

 _Same thing._

The two were standing atop the Banks' second floor balcony, overlooking the pool. A few minutes earlier, Crawford Wellesley had decided to impress the female guests by shotgunning a beer with his teeth. Never one to be outdone, particularly by a guy like Crawford, Charlie had decided that he needed to upstage the performance. He needed to do something bigger. Grander. More likely to drop panties and/or land himself in the emergency room. In a fleeting moment of male pride, he looked up, and as he saw the sun shining over the sprawling Tudor, inspiration beckoned from the great above.

He _would_ jump off the balcony into the pool.

He _would_ show the world that he was way more of a man than Crawford Wellesley.

Unfortunately, this declaration was made before realizing just how high up the balcony really was…

With each step, Charlie could feel his heart sinking further, the Banks' house somehow tripling in size by the time he made his way up the stairs. Now standing at the railing, it felt like he needed binoculars just to see the pool, thousands of acres of bone shattering concrete between him and the water. He could already see the funeral playing in his mind, poor Casey sobbing by the casket as Crawford enjoyed a threesome in the bathroom with the Bergjorn twins.

This…hadn't been his finest move.

And, for better or worse, the one guy who _didn't_ have to worry about impressing girls had followed him up.

"No. Not doing this."

"Come on. You know you want to."

"I don't want to die!"

"Dude." Adam laughed, his Abercrombie model smile gleaming even whiter in the sun. "You're not going to die. I'm pretty sure like, a zillion people have done this, and the only one who ever missed was Scott."

"And what happened to _him_?"

"Okay, well, he shattered his femur. But on the upside, now when he goes through metal detectors, he has a card he can show them, so they never even suspect that he has a gun. So…I guess that kind of worked out in the end."

"That's the least reassuring thing I've ever heard."

"Nah. It'd be less reassuring if he died." Adam pointed out, his humor hiding growing the lump in his throat.

After all, it _was_ a rather long jump. And the concrete below _was_ rather hard. And he _was_ kind of scared of heights. And there _wasn't_ really much point to the whole exercise.

But, a real man never admitted to being scared.

"You're warped."

"Well, yeah."

"You're going first."

"So you can see if I die?"

"Yup."

"Fine. We'll do it together."

"If you make it and I don't, tell my mom I loved her."

"If you make and I don't, tell my mom to fuck herself."

….

"Julie!" Connie squealed, the first to notice the new arrivals. Running towards the parked SUV, she nearly tackled Julie as she got out, the passing years having done nothing to dampen her enthusiasm.

"How have you been? Oh my gosh I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you, too!" Julie crowed, the two swaying back and forth in delight.

"It's been too long!"

"It's been _much_ too long!"

"Also, it's not fair how hot you still are!"

"Umm, yeah. Coming from the woman who still looks 18?"

"I. Wish."

"I love you."

It wasn't until Kenny and the Bash Brothers headed over to greet the _other_ new arrival that Connie's focus shifted, finally realizing that Julie had not simply materialized out of thin air. As she looked over, her face once again lit up, happy to see that a certain reclusive Minnesotan had made his way out of Edina.

"And how are you?" She asked, making her way over to the driver's side to give him a hug.

"Heh, I can't complain." He shrugged, wrapping his good arm around her and pulling her in tightly. "And how about you? Does it feel good to finally have your husband back after seventeen years?"

"I still can't believe that he's actually retired! It just makes me feel so old to say it."

"You _are_ old, Ms. Germaine." He laughed, that mischievous twinkle back. "Practically ancient."

"Thanks."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm still a year older, so if you're ancient, I'm basically just a corpse with a job."

Stepping back, she looked him up and down, seeing him in person for the first time in almost two decades.

"It looks like you're doing pretty well for a corpse."

"Thanks. I had a good mortician."

* * *

May 16, 2000

"See? I said you'd live."

"I'm never doing that again, Cakeeater!" Charlie gasped, still trying to catch his breath after the plunge.

Even after having landed safely in the water, he could feel his heart beating in his ears and the stinging in the bottom of his feet, his whole body eager to remind him of what a stupid thing he'd done.

He did _not_ feel cool.

He did _not_ feel proud of himself for upstaging Crawford.

He felt like a moron.


	10. Retirement

"Okay, so seriously, how have you been?"

Julie sat next her former roommate on the porch swing, looking down at her beer.

As basic of a question as it was, she couldn't help but pause, stuttering for an answer.

.

Her dreams had come true.

Of all of the Ducks—for that matter, of all of the Eden Hall Warriors—she and Guy were two of the only ones who could say that. There had been no sick parents. No unexpected pregnancies. No career-ending injuries. No rejections from a league that ultimately decided they just weren't good enough.

Her best-laid plans really had come to fruition. Life really had turned out much the way that she'd hoped; those prayers made in the back of her parents' Ford Aerostar answered from the great above.

.

And, it was all…okay.

"I've been good."

"Sounds convincing."

"What? I have been." Julie insisted, looking back up at her old roommate as she took another drink.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I'd _assume_ you've been good. But how are you really doing? Because you don't exactly sound enthusiastic…"

"I don't know. I'm fine."

Connie paused thoughtfully, running a hand through her flowing, chestnut mane. Considering whether to press the issue further, her eyes scanned the suburban lawn, and the boys clustered into their little groups, dotting the landscape.

Over by the barbeque grill, she could hear Goldberg and Russ arguing over the proper way to cook a steak, while down by the fire pit below, the Golden Boys of the Golden Gophers sat around, laughing as Charlie exaggeratedly re-enacted a goal he'd scored 20 years earlier.

"Some things never change, huh?" She smiled, shaking her head at the former Duck captain's antics.

"Nope. They sure don't."

* * *

"Come on, Mary Anne. You've never had a job."

Sitting back in her childhood bedroom, Julie turned down the TV. Though she didn't particularly _want_ to, she couldn't resist the urge to hear what her parents were saying.

To peek into the unpleasant truths of their lives.

.

She'd spent enough time with various friends to understand that all parents fought. The only real difference was how they did it: Justin's mom was a crier; terse conversations reaching a crescendo as the waterworks began, and Mr. Mahoney stepping back in to make it all better, always there to comfort his wife, no matter how much they disagreed.

Connie's parents liked to yell; their shouting matches a July storm that would come without warning, and give way to the warm, baking sun just as quickly.

Kate's parents were easily amongst the WASP-iest in Bangor, and that carried right through to their arguments. Mr. and Mrs. Kemp didn't _argue_ per se, so much as they displayed less enthusiasm while discussing the need to get the Volvo's oil changed. This could go on for weeks; their disagreements quietly simmering beneath the surface as Mrs. Kemp noted that John across the street had lost a couple of pounds, and that perhaps _their_ family should try eating more salads, while Mr. Kemp remarked that the Hollinsworth family always looked really nice, and that Mrs. Hollinsworth certainly did keep a lovely house. And then, at some point, the ice would begin to thaw, and Mrs. Kemp would still comment that John's diet seemed to be working, and Mr. Kemp would still comment that the Hollinsworths looked nice, but this time, there would be no malice behind it.

As for the Gaffney's, well, they fell somewhere between the Kemps and the Moreaus. Tom and Mary Anne always left just enough unsaid for Julie to know that things were worse than they sounded.

.

"I think you're giving yourself a little too much credit here."

"See? _This_ is what I'm talking about. Nothing is ever good enough, is it?"

"Well, if you'd just-"

"Shut up."

"Don't talk to me that way."

"Don't tell you to shut up? Would you prefer that I tell you to stop being such a nagging bitch?"

"Screw you."

"Just...go to hell."

Thumbing the volume button of the remote, Julie sat back in her bed, trying to decide whether she wanted to keep listening as their words carried through the walls. A few feet away, the 24" RCA shone; that night's _South Park_ episode promising an escape from her parents' woes.

* * *

"So he's really retired, huh?"

Leaning back against the porch swing, it was more a statement of fact than a question—of _course_ he was really retired. At thirty-six, he was a veritable dinosaur by hockey standards; a slow, aching brontosaurus left in a world of flying cars and vacations to Mars.

Still, Julie was now nearly two decades removed from the hockey world, and stuck in the professional world.

A world where colleagues often died before they retired.

"I know. It still feels so weird." Connie agreed. "You go seven years talking about how 'this may be the last season', and it doesn't even seem real anymore. It's like when you're a kid, and you hear your parents talk about 'this might be our last Christmas with Aunt Gertrude', but next thing you know, you're 25, and it's still Christmas with Aunt Gertrude. And then suddenly it's not."

"That's rough."

"It is." Connie nodded. "Like, I'm happy and all, but it's just…weird."

"So weird."

At a loss for what else to say about the situation, the two looked out over the deck railing, at the guys down below.

Sitting around the fire pit, Charlie still hadn't lost a bit of his enthusiasm for re-living his athletic feats from 20 years prior, the stories having only grown more impressive with the passage of time. He was now pantomiming a goal scored against The Breck School's JV squad back in 1997, reenacting every move with his imaginary hockey stick. Waltzing around his bemused audience, he deked left, deked right, and then in an accidental nod to reality, tripped over a rut in the lawn. Before anybody could do anything about it, he found himself facedown in Adam's lap, the blush in his cheeks hidden by an expensive pair of chinos.

Watching from above, Julie nearly spit out her beer at the sight.

"Okay, you _know_ he's been dreaming of this moment since we were like, nine." Connie chuckled, thinking back to the way their favorite spaz always used to watch the Hawks warm up before games.

 _He looked like he wanted to make out with them in hopes of gaining their magical powers_ …

"You are such a bitch."

"You know I'm right."

"Well yeah."

Trying to contain their laughter, both girls watched as he tried to extricate himself from his former teammate's crotch, Guy glancing up at them with a nod of approval.

"A golden opportunity, and they blew it." Connie sighed as Charlie went back to his own lawn chair; the bromantic-blowjob ship having sailed off into the sunset.

"Or failed to."

"And _I'm_ the bitch?"

"You're _always_ the bitch."

Connie laughed, starting to take another drink before she realized her glass was empty. Getting up, she walked back inside for a refill, Julie following behind.

"So speaking of childhood dreams," She continued, opening the refrigerator. "How are you and Adam?"

"What do you mean 'how are we'?" Julie chortled, reaching for another beer herself. "We're friends."

"Just, I don't know."

" _What_?"

"You two _are_ still weirdly adorable together."

"Eww!"

"How's that 'eww'?"

"Because he's married with four kids."

"I didn't mean like _that_!" Connie clarified, leaning against the Formica as she poured another glass of chardonnay. "I just meant like, you two still look comfortable together. I think you're good for one another."

"I mean, I guess?"

"You are."

Connie thought about going on. She thought about mentioning the fact that she was still friends with Bethany Callahan, who still lunched with Laura every Wednesday at the ECC, and that if third-hand accounts were to be believed, the guy outside humoring Charlie's Glory Days recap was probably the best version of Adam anyone had seen in eighteen years.

She thought about mentioning the fact that Julie herself looked about as happy as she had in awhile; her eyes finally moving with her face whenever she smiled.

Looking down at her glass of wine, though, Connie decided to drop the subject.

After all, Fulton and Portman were standing ten feet away, trying to figure out how to make a beer bong with a funnel they'd found in the cabinet.

"What do you want to bet that funnel is for like, motor oil and stuff?"

"Eww, seriously."

"Hey, I heard that!" Portman chimed in, still not abandoning his mission to find plastic tubing. As he rifled through Charlie's junk drawer, Fulton stared down at the stained plastic funnel and made a face.

"Dude, they're probably right."

"Whatever. You sound like Megan or something." Portman retorted, not looking up from the drawer full of odd rubber bands and misplaced markers.

"Megan's probably the only reason you're not dead yet, dumbass."

"You callin' me a dumbass?"

"Sure am. Dumbass."

"Cocksucker."

Before long, Fulton had his old Bash Brother in a headlock, Portman flailing around as the girls went back outside.

"Do we look that dumb to guys, or is that like, a one way thing?

* * *

June 29, 2000

"Ugh, can't you losers help clean?" Julie complained; a broom in hand as Shawn and Tim sat on the sofa, playing Tomb Raider and coating the rug in a fresh layer of Dorito crumbs.

"Why'd we do that?" Tim mumbled, never looking up from the screen.

"We're having company!"

" _We_ aren't having company. Tim and I aren't tryin' to get laid."

"You're _always_ trying to get laid, asshole."

"Yeah, but not by dudes."

.

Despite the fact that she had made it very clear that she and Adam were no longer a thing, and despite the fact that she'd repeatedly reminded herself and everyone else within a 9,000 mile radius that there was absolutely zero chance that they were going to get back together, she'd decided mid-June that Adam should come spend a few weeks in Bangor before the craziness of college hockey began...a decision that Adam didn't argue with at all.

.

"Yeah, how come you get to have your boyfriend come move in, anyway?" Shawn chimed in, reaching over for the 2-liter of Mountain Dew that he'd decided to commandeer for himself. In the background, the familiar video game music continued to play, leaving Julie to wonder how she could possibly be related to such idiots.

"He's not my boyfriend, and he's not moving in!"

"Mom and Dad won't let Kelsey stay over."

"Kelsey's a skank."

"So?"

"So she lives a block away." Julie reminded him, shuddering at the thought of her hygiene challenged brother and _Kelsey_ , the beauty school dropout who now worked at a bowling alley. "There's no _reason_ for her to stay over."

"Whatever. That's bullshit."

"You're bullshit."

"Dumbass."

"Tard."

Picking up a dustpan, Julie resumed her work, making a mental note to wait until Shawn had left for his job at Pizza Hut to attempt vacuuming the living room.

 _"Not that it will do much good."_ She thought, her eyes focused on a threadbare section of sofa that had been patched with embroidery floss five years prior. Stuffing now showed through the stitches; bits of beige foam sticking out in puffs.

* * *

"Dude, you _know_ you're trying to get in my pants."

"Whatever."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of."Adam chuckled. "Just ask Laura. I'm totally the best she ever had."

Ten minutes after the lap incident, Adam and Charlie were still ragging on another; twenty declarations of 'no homo' having given way to a debate about who wanted to suck who's dick. Happy to stay out of the debate, Guy focused on roasting his marshmallow, determined that _this_ one would avoid the fiery fate the last two had succumbed to.

"Pretty sure you're the _only_ one she's ever had."

"Well, yeah. That's why I told you to ask _her_. Small sample sizes are key here."

"You would know about small things, wouldn't you?" Charlie smirked, reaching down for his beer.

"The way you'd walk around the locker room? We _all_ got to learn about small things."

"Screw you."

"You're not really my type." Adam pointed out, giving his friend a contrite shrug. "I'm afraid your attraction is a one-way street."

"You're such a fag."

"I'm not the one trying to get in my lap."

His marshmallow finally toasted to perfection, Guy rejoined the conversation just as a billow of smoke started to shift his way. His eyes watering, he shifted closer to the other two in a bid to escape the blowing ash.

"Come on, Cakeeater." He chided. "You know that was the most action you've gotten in months."

"Well yeah. No shit." Adam agreed. "Just because I'm Laura's best doesn't mean she's interested."

"That's weirdly sad, bro."

"Meh, 18 years of this mediocrity?" He shrugged, leaning back against the lawn chair. "I think she's handled it pretty well!"

"Self-esteem really isn't your thing, is it?"

"Nope."

"Heh, you might try it sometime. I hear good things about it."

 **...**

"That's...going to be a lot of togetherness."

Connie and Julie sat back on the porch swing, the realities of Guy's retirement still sinking in. Connie just nodded, taking another drink.

"So. Much. Togetherness."

"That _Introduction to Family Relationships_ class really left some stuff out."

"No kidding!" Connie laughed. "Damn you, Mrs. Johnson. Three weeks on how to work together to pick paint colors, and nothing on this?"

"Yeah, but I've seen the pictures of your house on Facebook." Julie smiled, curling her legs up underneath her as she watched the sunset in the distance. "You totally have the whole greige thing mastered."

"Five houses, and the same shade of greige has worked every time."


	11. Just The Way Things Work

As Old Hermon Road came into view, Julie found herself second guessing the decision to have Adam come visit.

...

Ever since that first Christmas when she returned home from Eden Hall, she couldn't help but notice how downtrodden Bangor looked. The same town that had once been perfect for riding bikes and sneaking out with friends at night now seemed to be coated in a permanent grime; from billboards advertising social security lawyers down the grocery store with wilted lettuce, the whole city seemed to sag under the weight of a region that had left them behind.

.

The Gaffney house, too, seemed more embarrassing by the day.

A sprawling four bedroom ranch, the house had been quite the showpiece in 1956. Twenty years later, Tom and Mary Anne Gaffney bought it off Tom's aging aunt for a good price, excited to able to afford such a nice starter home.

.

Unfortunately for the two of them, kids came faster than promotions, and every raise the state gave Tom got eaten up by hockey camps and piano lessons. Though the family was still comfortable, there was never room in the budget for new decor, and the whole house suffered from benign neglect. Now four decades past it's heyday, the residence at 1701 Old Hermon Road had become a mishmash of half-finished projects and rooms that hadn't seen a fresh coat of paint since the Carter administration; a pattern exemplified by the mauve carpet in the foyer and yellow sponge painted walls in the hallway.

.

Looking over at Adam, it just seemed _wrong_ to bring him into such a place.

Sitting there in a crisp white oxford, and perfectly pressed khaki shorts, he just didn't look like the kind of person who would _understand_ how cow-themed bathrooms happen...not that Julie herself was sure that she did, either.

.

"You're sure you're really brave enough for two weeks with us?" Julie joked, hoping that her voice didn't belie how insecure she felt.

 _Because I'm not sure I'm brave enough for this._

"You've met Scott..."

"Well, yeah, but he's pretty fancy other than always being in and out of jail and stuff."

"Yeah. Yeah, 'other than always being in and out of jail and stuff'. That's a pretty big caveat right there." Adam laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as they sat in the back of Mr. Gaffney's old Honda Accord.

"I'm just saying. You have one of Scott. I'm stuck with three idiots, and way less house to hide them in!"

"Heh, I'm pretty sure Scott's in a league of his own. Besides, you've watched the _Lifetime Movie_ that is my family. It's my turn now."

"You really are remarkably normal, all things considered."

Adam just chuckled, running a hand through his sandy shag.

"I'm _so_ reminding you of that next time you make fun of me."

"I just said that you were normal, _all things considered_. Not that you're normal-normal."

"Whatever. You said it. You think I'm normal."

"Nah." Julie smiled, reaching over for his hand. "You're way better than normal."

* * *

"So how are the boys looking this season?" Guy asked, sitting back in his lawn chair as he took another drink of beer.

After the sun set, most of the Ducks had gone back inside. However, Adam, Charlie, and Guy sat out by the fire, catching up on days gone by as cicadas chirped in the background. Now past discussions of their own glory days, the conversation had shifted to their alma mater's prospects for the upcoming season as Charlie and Guy sat side by side; Charlie filling him in on the annual recruiting battle with their old rival, Shattuck-St. Marys'.

"Not bad." Charlie replied. "Shattuck's got better stars this year. Ostenkirk's better than anyone we have. But we killed it on getting the B-list recruits. They've got three solid guys and nothing else."

Guy nodded.

"Should make for interesting playoffs."

"No kidding. I'm sure they'll kill us the first shift, but unless they've got a plan for cloning Ostenkirk, we'll be playing Our Sisters of the Poor half the game."

"I wonder if there are any rules against cloning a player..." Guy chuckled, swatting at a mosquito.

"I guarantee they'll be trying."

"I don't think their science department is quite up to that."

"I don't think their science department knows what cell division is."

.

Adam sat a couple of feet away, trying to stay out of the discussion.

 _Fuck Eden Hall_.

After twenty years, his thoughts on his alma mater had grown less than charitable, and as Charlie and Guy continued to talk, he looked down at his beer, fingering the colorful beaded bracelet his eldest son had made for him years before.

.

In two more years, it would be time to figure out where to send Tucker for high school.

Two more years until he'd likely be sending him off to Shattuck...once again saying goodbye to a son with whom he'd already missed too many years.

.

"Anybody get anyone else good?"

"Meh, Edina has a couple decent ones that weren't really worth recruiting. But that's about it."

"Figures."

"Yeah."

"How 'bout you?" Guy asked, looking over at his quieter friend. "Are your two oldest living up to the Banks' reputation?"

Looking up from his beer, Adam just chuckled, his thumb stroking a chunky wooden bead.

"Heh, they kind of do what they want."

"You sure they're yours and not Scotty's?" Guy joked, taking another drink. "'Cuz I'm pretty sure _you_ never did what you wanted."

"Yeah, well, they both know how to read, and Will's afraid of hot water heaters, so yup. Poor kids are probably mine."

"Hot water heaters?"

"Yeah."

"Glad to hear that you managed to pass along both neuroticism and basic literacy."

"I did what I could."

* * *

"So _this_ is what they do in Maine." Adam laughed, buzzed on cheap liquor pilfered from the Gaffney's liquor cabinet.

Around them, fireflies lit up the sky as the two sat atop a wooden platform, overlooking the miles of trees in every direction.

.

Determined to make the most of Bangor's limited entertainment options, Julie had decided that a certain preppy could use a bit of adventure in his life. Without fully disclosing what they would be doing, she packed a tote bag, and the two set off for a trail a couple of miles from her house.

When Adam realized that her plan involved sneaking up the Forest Service watchtower, he found himself thankful for the bit of liquid courage that had been consumed along the way. Still, as he stared up the rickety metal structure, he couldn't help but long for the relative safety of the ice rink. As he climbed it, he could feel his pulse racing in his ears as the tower shifted with the wind; no amount of grain alcohol enough to quiet his nerves. Now settled in atop the upper platform, he could finally release his grip on the railing and allow the evening sky to consume him.

"Well, it was this or ride a moose to Kennebunkport."

"Should have gone with the moose. It sounds safer."

"Don't worry." Julie chuckled. "We can still do that tomorrow night."

"Do we get to like, ride in the antlers?"

"Duh!"

For a moment, the two grew quiet, watching as shades of magenta overtook the hazy dusk.

Taking another drink from the repurposed Gatorade bottle, the symbolism of the night wasn't lost on Adam-he knew the sun was setting on more than just Central Maine. That all of the magic they were watching would soon come to an end.

Still, that time hadn't arrived yet.

And maybe it didn't have to.

"They really need to build these in Minneapolis."

"Why? So they can make sure Edina doesn't catch on fire?"

"Exactly!"

Julie sat back against the metal edge of the platform, fingering a pebble that she was about to throw over the side.

"That's probably what your dad's office was for."

"The Secret Suburban Forrest Service?"

"Yeah. He was the president of it."

"That would have been a nice job." Adam smiled, looking out over the tree tops. "He probably would have been in a lot better of a mood if he could have been president of the Secret Suburban Forrest Service."

"Agreed."

The thought still fresh in his mind, Adam pondered this magical alternate universe; one where his dad simply got to sit up in his high-rise office all day, staring out at sunsets and making sure Edina hadn't mysteriously caught fire. One in which his dad came home in a good mood every day, happy to report that no conflagrations had swept the western suburbs.

"Do you ever wish your parents could have like, done something different with their lives?"

Julie paused for a second, unsure of how to answer.

"Yeah." She began, looking down at a firefly that had landed beside her, his torso aglow as he signaled out to the other bugs that he was available. "I mean, I think my dad likes his job okay. He's not president of the Secret Suburban Forrest Service or anything, but he seems pretty happy. But I don't know. I think my mom wishes she would have done something different."

"Like what?"

 _Like not get married._

"I don't know. Like, I feel like my dad just kind of picked both of their lives. And I mean, he did an okay job, but I don't think this was what she really wanted."

"That sucks."

"Yeah.

"So how about you?" She continued, watching as the firefly flew away. "What do you wish your parents could have done?"

Adam just chuckled, looking down at the face of his Rolex.

"I'm pretty sure their best hope would have been never meeting one another."

" _That's_ a happy thought."

"Heh, what can I say? They were pretty doomed."

"Good point."

* * *

"That's just the way things work."

As the fire burned down, Adam and Charlie still sat around the glowing embers, their voices rising as the pile of beer cans around them grew.

What had started off as a pleasant enough conversation about Eden Hall's prospects for the upcoming year took a turn for the worse once mention of the Hall of Fame came up.

.

Following the insider trading scandal five years earlier, both Eden Hall and U of Minnesota had tried to distance themselves from Adam's legacy. U of M had done so with a wink and a nod—a few mentions of him had been removed, but his number still hung from the rafters, and as soon as he got out of prison, his box seat passes were waiting on him. The athletic director had even taken him out to lunch to apologize; assuring him that he was still a valued member of the Golden Gopher family.

Eden Hall, on the other hand, _meant_ it when they removed him from their hall of fame. No more banner. No more framed jersey in the hallway. No more plaque or senior picture in the trophy case. Even their list of Varsity captains past was re-done, omitting the 1999 and 2000 seasons from their 120-year history.

 _They fucking kept Riley on that list_.

.

"Two national championships. I gave them _two national championships_ —the only two they ever had!"

"Yeah. And you went to prison."

"It's not like I was out raping kids or something." Adam's voice grew louder, his eyes boring into the coach who had done nothing to stop this injustice. "Insider trading isn't really a crime."

"Nah, actually, I'm pretty sure that anytime you get sent to prison for four years, it's because it's because people consider it 'really a crime'."

"Bullshit."

"What?" Charlie argued back. "You think you can just do whatever you want and nobody will care because of who you were when you were 19?"

"I'm not saying that, but come on."

"Come on _what_? The whole point of the Hall of Fame is to honor people who've done things with their lives. You haven't done that."

"Fuck you."

For a moment, everything quieted, the only noise coming from the chirp of cicadas in the background. As Charlie cracked open another beer, Adam spoke again, his words softer this time.

"I gave them everything I had." His voice cracking, he shifted in his seat, trying to relieve the pressure on his back and hips. "They got two national championships out of me. I'm 38, and I'm already facing double hip replacement. I can't remember my kids' full names. I don't think it was asking too much for them to at least keep me on their plaque of past captains."

"You know as well as anyone how stuff works there."

"Yeah, and I also know that you're their head coach."

"You're putting this on _me_?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure you had more veto power over the whole thing than I did."

 _Yeah._

 _Because back when you had a say in things, you were always realllly interested in helping everyone else._

"That's rich of you to say."

"What?"

"What do you mean, _what_?" Charlie reminded him, his voice growing louder as twenty years of resentment started bubbling back to the surface. "Eden Hall. U of M. Sigma Chi. You never did shit for the rest of us."

"What was I supposed to do? Force people to be friends with you?"

"Well I just think it's really funny that you expect me to put my ass out there for you when you've spent the last 25 years basking in all of your rich kid breaks, never doing a damn thing to help anybody else into your perfect little circle."

Adam's eyes grew wide as he looked over at Charlie, his jaw agape in disbelief at the whole thing.

"You let them erase my legacy _because you didn't get a fuckin' Sigma Chi bid when you were 18?_ Grow the fuck up _._ "

"It's not about that, Dickwad."

"Then what's it about?"

"I'm just saying." Charlie pointed out, setting down his beer. "You were all about going with the status quo and not making waves when it suited you. Well guess what? Shit goes both ways. At this point, I'm a _lot_ more concerned about improving diversity than trying to make sure some fat felon has his glory days properly enshrined."

Adam shook his head, his eyes turning cold.

"Go back to the fucking projects."

" _What_ did you say?"

"I said 'go back to the fucking projects'. You don't belong in Edina."

"Why? Because I'm not as classy as you? Because I don't spend every day getting blackout in my fancy house that I bought with stolen money?"

"Fuck you."

"What? Is it that I don't have 15 illegitimate children running around the 'hood like Scott? Is it that I actually pay my child support? Is it that I don't shoot up in the bathroom at work? Because I _really_ want to know what it is that I have to do to live up to your glorious Edina standards."

Adam just shook his head.

"You're bigger white trash than your mom."

"I'm not the one whose kids spent their childhood visiting daddy in prison."

"Yeah, well, speaking of prison." Adam shrugged. "I got to talking to your dad in there, and he says you're the reason he left."

Before they either one _quite_ knew what was happening, both were on the ground, Adam's lip bleeding as Charlie tried to shake out the pain in his hand. In the background, cicadas kept on chirping.


	12. Future's So Bright

"I think this was a good plan."

"Oh _do_ you?" Julie giggled, the lake glimmering in the background.

Taking advantage of the perfect July day, the two had gone out to the lake behind Julie's house; a scattering of trees between the water and the houses nearby giving the two a welcome bit of privacy.

The afternoon had started off innocent enough: Just a nice, wholesome swim; the perfect way to spend a hot summer day in a town with limited entertainment options.

Of course, a few minutes into their swim, Julie realized that she had grown tired of her summer tan lines, and set to liberate herself the confines of her bikini. Adam soon followed suit, neither move eliciting a bit of complaint.

"Yeah. I do." He smiled, pulling her in closer.

"Good."

Holding her body close against his, Adam leaned down for a kiss. Unable to resist, he let one hand glide down past the small of her back, savoring the curves that he knew he'd never be able to forget.

Grasping her hockey toned butt, he grew all the more excited, every inch of his body longing to be with her.

To never let go.

He felt of her smooth skin; her supple rear. Of her body that just seemed to be perfectly made for his.

"You are so beautiful." He whispered, her face now resting against his collarbone.

Looking up, her eyes sparkled as they met his; the sun casting them both in a warm glow.

"You're not bad yourself."

"I'm beautiful?"

"You are extremely beautiful, Mr. Adam Wailes Talbott Banks." She giggled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. "Everything about you is gorgeous."

She smiled as a blush crept over his cheeks.

Nineteen years, and somehow it seemed that it never had _quite_ dawned on him how popular he was with the ladies.

"Well, I'm certainly not as beautiful as you."

"Humble words from the resident Prom King."

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?" He chuckled, still savoring every second with her.

Above, a flock of ducks flew overhead, the quacking barely audible as the two continued their banter; neither one taking their eyes off of one another.

"Of course not. You were pretty adorable in your little crown. Besides, not just everybody gets to be prom king...it's kind of special."

"Not as special as being here with you."

"Think of it as one of the royal perks." She laughed, ruffling the back of his hair as her other hand grasped his shoulders, bringing him in so close that she could feel every inch of his wet, sculpted body.

"Ah! I knew it! You're just using me for my plastic jewels and fancy scepter!"

"You got me!"

"Well, I will happily share all of my riches with you, Princess Feline." He smiled, his arms still tight around her waist.

"You are such a dork."

"No argument there."

* * *

"Worthless fuckin' piece of shit!"

"Fat ass, white trash junkie."

As Fulton and Portman separated the two, the shouting continued, piercing the night sky. Charlie strained against Fulton's grasp, desperate for another go at his former friend while Portman helped Adam off the ground; Adam more concerned with shouting insults than getting back up. As blood dripped from his lip, all he could think about was the past twenty years; all of the things Charlie wasn't there for. All of the phone calls that never happened. All of the Christmas cards that were never reciprocated.

"Washed up loser."

"Cock sucking faggot."

"Whiny ass mama's boy."

"Would you two just shut up?" Fulton pleaded, still working to pull Charlie away from the melee as Charlie fought back with all of his might. "You're worse than a couple of eighth graders."

"He started it."

"You're the one who hit _me_."

"For talking about my dad."

"Immature psycho."

"Go find a spoon and a lighter."

With Adam finally back on his feet, the two Bash Brothers drug Adam and Charlie to opposite ends of the yard, hoping that a bit of distance would help cool the tensions. With the blood from Adam's lip now staining Portman's beloved shirt, the aging middle manager found himself cursing the fact that he'd gotten stuck with his least favorite Duck.

 _Fucker even still smells the same._

 _Like old money and impotence_.

"Those were some bold words back there for a guy who can't walk..." He pointed out, his sympathy thin for a problem that was so clearly of Adam's own creation.

"Whatever."

"You alright?"

"Of course."

This time, as he looked back over at his old rival, he could see the way that Adam's shoulders sagged; the right further than the left. He could see the sadness in his eyes, and the marks of a guy who'd lost more fights than he'd won.

Slowly, it sank in that the past was the past.

The guy standing next to him wasn't some stuck up middle schooler telling him what he could or couldn't say. He wasn't a ninth grader snubbing the rest of the team to go hang out with a bunch of assholes in Lacoste polos. He wasn't a high school senior, conveniently looking the other way as his fellow preppies ran roughshod over everyone else with their fancy college plans and expensive SUVs. He wasn't even a washed-up investment banker, giving a bored shrug to everyone else's reality.

He was a person.

A person who was hurting in more ways than one.

"So what the hell are you two fighting about, anyway?" He asked, his brow furrowed as they stood under the porch light.

"About the fact that he's an asshole."

 _Is this how dumb I sounded when I was 16?_

 _No wonder Dad preferred cocktail waitresses to listening to this shit._

"Okay, well, lots of people are assholes..."

"Charlie needs to go fuck himself!" Adam stated, loudly enough to ensure that he could be heard from across the yard.

"Fuck you, too!" Charlie shouted back, Portman rolling his eyes as the argument continued, louder than ever.

"Go back to your trailer park!"

"Go back to being Bubba's little bitch!"

"Quit thinking about what I was doing to your mom last night!"

 _Holy shit these are a couple of idiots._

"Would you just grow the hell up?" Portman finally asked, shaking his head.

"What? He started it."

"I...don't care who started it. You're 36 years old. You're greyer than I am. Learn to shut your mouth."

"Thirty seven."

"Okay, that just makes it worse, dumbass."

"Whatever."

"Seriously. What's going on with you two?"

"We haven't talked in twenty years. Twenty years without so much as a text or 'like' on Facebook, and yet next thing I know, he's starting in with his bullshit."

Portman grew quiet, just looking down at his flip flops as he thought about that statement. The words replayed in his head as he thought about his own previous two decades, and all of the things his friends had been there for.

"Talking is a two-way thing, you know."

"I did my part."

Portman paused again, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Look. I...haven't really been around for everything, but I'm guessing Charlie isn't that hard to find. He works like, a mile from your house. I'm not saying he never messed up or nothin', but I'm thinking there's stuff you could have done. Whatever you or he did, it seems like if you would have wanted to talk, you could have."

"Crawford visited me more than he did."

"What?"

"When I was in the hospital. Crawford visited me more than he did."

Things once again grew quiet, only the cicadas chirping in the background. Portman finally just shrugged, still staring down at the ground.

"Crawford didn't work. He had more time. Besides, he like...played golf and drove a Volvo and lived at Ridgewood. Charlie had a lot more to not think about."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"What the hell do you think it means? There's a lot of shit you don't want to have to think about when you're going out there every day."

"That's not an excuse."

"I'm not saying it is. I'm just saying you aren't comparing apples to apples with him and Crawford."

"Guy visited."

"Guy's a good dude." He agreed. "Better than I could have been."

* * *

"What do you think we're going to be doing when we're like, old?" Julie mused, her childhood stuffed bear clutched under her arm as she lie in bed next to Adam, looking over at her first love.

"We'll be super rich and sexy and successful, and I'll still be missing you like crazy."

"No you won't." She laughed, rolling over towards him.

Night had set in, and rather than go out, Julie and Adam had elected spend a lazy evening back in her bedroom, savoring the last of their time together. All around, they were surrounded old field day ribbons, and Babysitter's Club books, and trophies from peewees; mementos of an era that was coming to an end. A fan hummed overhead as the two sprawled across the bed, lying side by side as they looked up at the plastic Glow in the Dark stars Julie had affixed to the ceiling as a kid.

"Yes. I will." Adam said softly, reaching over for her hand as he thought about the fact that _nobody_ could ever compare to his beloved goalie.

 _I'll never stop loving you_.

"Nah. You'll be married to like, some supermodel turned actress, and living off in Malibu or something!"

"Malibu?"

"Well, I don't know. Somewhere cooler than Minnesota."

"I think Malibu's pretty warm." He chuckled, still looking up at the ceiling and the plastic constellations above. "If I want somewhere _cooler_ than Minnesota, I think I'm going to have to go to Canada."

"Dork."

"But seriously, what would I talk about with a supermodel?"

"You'll talk about whatever it is that rich and famous people talk about." Julie giggled, looking back over at her junior high crush. His hand enveloping hers, she could feel the cool metal of his signet ring, and the callouses of countless hours in the gym. Lying there in his khakis and t-shirt, she smiled at the effect the years had had on his appearance; the last vestiges of adolescent awkwardness long-gone.

 _It's like he was just made to be on the front of a Wheaties box._

"I don't know." He replied, pausing as he thought for a moment, chewing at the side of his lip. "I don't think any supermodel could compare to you."

"Well, now you're just blind.

Laughing, Adam shut his eyes and dramatically felt around the bed in search of his beloved girlfriend, his hands "accidentally" landing on her breasts.

"You are such a loser!"

"You can't say that!" He joked, his hands still cupping her breasts. "I'll write to Dartmouth that you make fun of blind people and call them losers, and they'll probably take away your acceptance. You'll have to stay with me, after all!"

"Heh, there would be worse things in the world."

For a minute, the room went quiet, her words reverberating in his mind.

He knew she was only kidding, but still...

 _Maybe_ there was hope.

Maybe.

"Have you considered it?" He asked, his voice quieter this time. His hands no longer on her breasts.

 _Please Julie. I could never love anybody like I love you._

 _You're my everything._

Julie just shook her head, once again taking his hand in hers. With her thumb, she stroked the top of his hand, half wishing that she'd never have to let go.

"Of course. I always consider it. But it's not the right thing. For either of us."

"It's the right thing for me." He reminded her. "I love you more than anything in this world. For as long as I live, no matter what I do, I'm always going to be thinking about you. I'm _always_ going to love you."

* * *

 _Fat ass, white trash junkie_.

Adam sat sprawled across the sofa, a bag of frozen peas resting against the back of his head, and a piece of tissue stopping the blood flow from his lip.

His head pounded from being tackled into the concrete, but louder than the throbbing in his skull were Charlie's words.

He thought about the rolls of blubber that greeted him in the mirror every morning; an unfortunate reality that he did his best to hide.

He thought about Tucker's sixth birthday, and coming to in a Chuck E Cheese bathroom with a paramedic hovering over him. He thought about the look that Tucker gave him; the one that said 'I'm done caring'.

He thought about the time he got the family kicked out of Waffle House, and the twelve stitches under his eye from passing out in his prison cell. The metal bed frame hadn't been nearly as forgiving as his sofa at home, leaving him with a lasting reminder of that overdose.

He thought about the way that Laura still bought most of their clothes at The Goodwill, and how the kids were on financial aid at school. He thought about how his biggest financial success in the prior two decades had come from being the firm's fall guy, and how his current position paid marginally better than being a Starbucks barista.

About how Starbucks baristas actually had _better_ career trajectories to look forward to than anything in his future; disabled upper-middle class felons a rather niche hire for most places.

 _"Yeah."_ He conceded, sinking down into the velour. " _He pretty much hit the nail on the head there_."

* * *

"So...goodbye forever?" Adam asked, his eyes pleading as he lifted his luggage onto the counter at the airport.

All around, harried travelers rushed by as Julie stood next to him, taking in every last second together that she could.

As she looked him up and down, she once again found herself gripped with the sense that she'd made a terrible mistake: Dressed down for his flight, he'd settled on an uncharacteristically casual pair of khaki shorts and a sweatshirt, forgoing his contacts for the glasses normally worn at bedtime.

On a lesser person, the overall impact might have been sloppy, but in his case, it was a welcome contrast to his chiseled features and WASP-y demeanor. Between his sad eyes and scruffy bangs, he looked like the kind of guy Julie wouldn't mind cuddling up with for the rest of her life, medical school be damned.

 _Why am I letting him go?_

"Not forever, silly!" She assured him, taking hold of his hand.

"Okay." He smiled, his head cocked to the side as he squeezed her hand in return. "Good. Any idea when I'll get to see you again?"

"Well, obviously I'm going to have to come celebrate when you make the pros next year!"

"You'll be there?"

"Of course." She laughed, pulling him into a tight hug as they stood there at the baggage counter, the line behind them mercifully lacking. "I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Even through his sweatshirt, she could feel the rippling muscles of his back, and how rock hard his abs were; the thought of ever letting go of such a body practically a crime against nature.

 _Seriously._

 _Why?!_

"Awesome."

His bags now checked, the two stood quiet for a moment, the realness of it all still setting in.

...

Every spring before, they had said goodbye, knowing that they'd be back together in three more months. That there would always be a next fall, and that everything would pick right back up where it left off.

They knew that when they saw one another again, the tans might be deeper, and a haircut might have changed, but that the important things would still be the same. That when they saw one another again in three months, they'd both still be the same people they'd been back in May; give or take an inch and a new outfit or two.

This time, though, they knew that there wouldn't be a next fall.

There wouldn't be a continuation of the same.

They knew that by the next time they saw one another, _everything_ would be different.

...

"I think you're going to be awesome at Dartmouth, you know."

"Thanks. Pretty sure you'll be pretty great at Minnesota, too."

Adam just laughed.

"I better be. It's not like I'm much good at anything else."


	13. Not How Life Was Supposed to Turn Out

That night, as Julie settled into bed alone, she felt acutely aware of the space beside her.

In a house filled with three brothers, it was hard to say that the house felt too _quiet_ , but still, it all seemed empty in a way that it hadn't before. The smell of Adam's cologne lingered on her pillow, and as the hum of the air conditioner drowned out an argument between Jeff and Shawn over who could have the last slice of pizza, she couldn't help but reconsider her choice.

.

Dartmouth was a good idea, certainly, but why did she have to close the door on _everything_?

.

Adam would have gone to Harvard.

All she had to do was say the word, and they would have only been a couple of hours apart. They would have still been able to spend the weekends together. They would have had another year to put off the harder decisions.

 _"It had to be done sooner or later."_ She reminded herself, snuggling up with the North Face pullover he'd 'accidentally' left behind.

Still, that didn't make it any easier.

And it didn't change the fact that her bed still felt too big.

That the things she loved felt too far away.

* * *

"You okay, dude?"

Charlie limped over and sat down on the living room sofa, a bag of frozen peas wrapped around his hand. Eyeing him was Adam, already sprawled across the other end with an icepack and a splitting headache.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry about that." Charlie apologized, his back still reeling from the ill-advised tackle that had sent them both to the ground.

 _I don't remember this stuff hurting so much when I was fifteen._

"Heh, no worries. Pretty sure my kids hit harder than you."

"I've seen the scouting reports on those two." Charlie agreed, sinking into the velour. "Tucker could kick either of our asses."

"No shit." Adam chuckled. "So many daddy-issues going on there. Kid can't skate worth a damn, but Iceland wouldn't have stood a chance."

Charlie just shook his head.

"Why do I feel like that explains a lot about the Banks Dynasty?"

"Of course it does. I couldn't very well go around and mess up decades of tradition by _good_ parent, now could I?"

As Adam reached over for the TV remote, Charlie noticed the way that he had to reach across with his good hand, and the slight wobble when he leaned over too far. Details that he hadn't paid attention to before.

 _Shit._

Opening a bottle of water, Charlie suddenly felt very conscious of the way that his own body _worked_ ; of the way that he could hold the bottle of Aquafina in one hand, and unscrew the lid with the other. Of the way that he could reach for things without losing his balance, and walk up the steps of his porch, and sit in chairs without anything to lean against.

"Are you really alright?"

"Of course. In case you can't tell, I've survived worse."

"Good point."

"I'm sorry about what I said, man." Adam added, glancing over at the framed jerseys on the wall; a collection that spanned from the Ducks to the city's Special Needs team, nary a mention of U of M in sight. "I didn't mean it. You're doing good work. Work a lot more important than my spot in the trophy case."

"Nah, I should have done more. I just…I don't know."

"It's cool. You have plenty of other shit to worry about."

"It's more than just that." Charlie paused, looking down to pick at a hangnail. The silence hung in the air a moment, filling the corners of the room and sinking into the geometric rug below. "It's just…I don't know. Life wasn't supposed to turn out this way. For either of us."

Adam shook his head, the bloody tissue still stuck to his lip.

"No shit." He agreed. "This is definitely _not_ what I was dreaming of all those nights skating on the pond."

"You didn't dream that I'd be kicking your ass in twenty years?"

"I think you kicked your _own_ ass." He chuckled, re-arranging his ice pack as he tried to get comfortable. "I guarantee, you're going to be feeling that longer than I am."

"Yeah, you're probably right about that.

Charlie sat back, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Eyeing his childhood idol, he chewed at the side of his cheek for a moment, thinking about the things that had been said out by the fire.

Thinking about all Adam had given to his favorite sport, and the way that it had repaid him. Thinking about the rumors and headlines that had swirled in the years since; Minnesota's golden boy having fallen from grace.

He also thought about the fact that he was training the next generation of Scotts and Adams; praying the whole time that he wasn't sending these kids to slaughter like so many of the ones who had come before them.

.

"So double hip replacement, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"It's cool, man."

"I'm sorry. I know things didn't really turn out how you'd hoped."

As his words hung in the air, Charlie thought about clarifying his statement.

He thought about saying that he hadn't _meant_ it when he'd said that the Hall of Fame was for people who had done something with their lives; that Adam had accomplished plenty in the years since high school. That any place should be proud of the legacy he'd left behind, blemishes be damned.

As much as he wanted to say it, though, he just couldn't.

It would be too big of a lie.

"It's cool."

"I just-you were always _the greatest_ , you know. You were everything I wanted to be. It...it wasn't supposed to turn out like this..."

 _You weren't supposed to grow up to be a junkie_.

"No shit." Adam agreed, able to sense the words that were still hanging in the air.

"We good?"

"Yeah."

"And...you? Are you good? Like really."

Adam just smiled, giving a thoughtful nod after a second.

"Of course I am."

* * *

August 22, 2000

"Shawn Allen Gaffney. You stop that right now."

"What?"

"You know what!"

"He can't help that he always smells like farts!"

"Talkin' about yourself again?"

"Shut up, shithead."

"Would you two just stop being retards?" Julie finally barked from behind, her patience exhausted with the bickering that had gone on between Shawn and Tim all morning.

 **.**

The plan _had_ been simple.

Mr. and Mrs. Gaffney would load up the family minivan, and drive Julie down to New Hampshire themselves. Alone. Without any of their other children.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Between Shawn's buddy Mike convincing him that Dartmouth was just crawling with hot, easy chicks, and Tim picking the week before to land himself in juvie for smoking pot at the skate park, the Gaffneys ended up with one son who refused to be left behind, and another who couldn't be left unsupervised. As such, that hot, sticky August morning, they found themselves trapped in a Dodge Caravan with three of their four children, plus half a dozen Rubbermaid bins filled with bedding and clothes.

Not even out of Penobscot County yet, patience was wearing thin as Shawn and Jeff decided that the enclosed car would be the perfect place for a farting contest, and Mr. Gaffney found himself faced with the realization that four-year tuition would never be a concern for half of his brood.

 **.**

"What? Are you on your puberty?"

"What the hell?"

"Her puberty. Where chicks get all pissy."

"That's her period, numbnuts."

"Nah, it's called puberty, dipshit. Look it up."

"Puberty is what you're still waiting to go through, dumbass."

"Dudes don't get puberty. That's a chick thing."

"You are such a tard."

"Screw you."

"Your brother's right." Mr. Gaffney finally pointed out, staring out at the highway ahead. "Puberty is what everyone goes through when they become a teenager."

"Hah, see?"

"Whatever."

"I said you were a tard."

"You're both a couple of tards!"

 _Four and a half more hours..._

* * *

Guy walked into the living room, looking back and forth between Adam and Charlie, at a loss for how to seemingly reasonable people could be counted on to regress into _worse_ versions of their 15-year old selves at every opportunity.

"So you two are cool now?"

"Yeah."

"Which of you won?" He asked, commandeering the TV remote. Sitting down, he propped his feet up on the coffee table and flipped through the channels as Adam and Charlie continued to ice their wounds.

 _Then again, pretty sure those two had a few more brain cells back then_...

Charlie just shook his head.

"It turns out that after a certain age, there is no such thing as _winning_ a fight."

"So...the quadriplegic won?"

"Yup."

"Good going."

Settling on a rerun of _Parks and Rec_ , the three settled in for the evening, the other Duck factions all slowly making their way into the living room. As the others found places on the floor or loveseat, Julie noticed that Adam's lap was sitting empty.

.

For a moment, she really did _try_ to stop herself.

However, as she looked around, the loveseat was already packed. The floor too was rather crowded. She'd already killed off a bottle of wine. And perhaps most importantly, Adam had a very nice lap.

 _"I'm just being considerate."_ She assured herself, noting that Dwayne and Kenny were still in the kitchen, and that there weren't many good spots left on the rug.

 _It would be mean to make one of them sit on the laminate. And besides, it's not weird if the sofa's already full_.

"Mind if I steal a spot on your lap?" She asked, her cheeks flush as she tried not to think about the naughtier implications of what she was doing.

"Well of course. Just think of me as your own personal Ikea sofa."

"Does that mean that I have to assemble you, and that you'll fall apart within a month?" She giggled, smoothing the back of her dress before she sat down on top of his thighs; making herself comfortable against his body.

 _Damn it._

 _He really is pretty good to cuddle with._

"Don't worry. I'm pre-owned IKEA. The assembly has already been done for you, as has the inevitable failure of all the important parts."

"Good to know."

Repositioning herself so that she could get a decent look at him, she held his chin in her hand for a moment, cocking her head to the side as she examined his lip.

 _Is every day with him this much of a mess?_

Though his bottom lip was pretty swollen, and he had a bit of a cut along the edge of the swelling, she finally determined that he'd probably be as good as new within a day or two, lack of common sense notwithstanding.

"Is there ever going to be any convincing this IKEA sofa not to do stupid things?"

"Nah." He chuckled, his eyes crinkling up as he held her close enough that she could smell his cologne and the cigarette smoke in his hair. "That's only available on the LESBIATORP model. This is the male version, where bad ideas are a key structural component."

Julie just shook her head.

"I feel like that was a poor design choice."

"No kidding!

Using his good arm, he pulled her into a more comfortable position until her body was rested against his; his arm around her waist as she sank into this softer, rounder version of her first love.

"Believe me, the 'bad idea' component has _not_ worked out well for this sofa."

...

As Kenny brought over a kitchen chair for his wife, and Dwayne scooched in next to Russ on the floor, the crowd became complete: The entire flock back in the same room together after nineteen years.

"Did it ever dawn on anybody to host this at say, Banksie's house, or even Goldberg's or something?" Russ finally pointed out, noting the cramped conditions.

"Saying my house is small?" Charlie joked, curling and uncurling his fingers under the bag of frozen peas to try to figure out if anything was broken.

 _I think his face was sturdier than my hand._

"What I'm saying is my ass is too fat for the floor, and I'm pretty sure ol' Cakeeater's kids are off playing hockey in their living room as we speak."

Adam just laughed, the fact not escaping him that Julie _was_ _in his fucking lap_.

"Nah. Foyer's the better place for that...puck slides better on the marble."

"And _that_ , my friend, is why everybody hates Edina."

"Hatin' us cuz' you ain't'n us.."

"Damn right. I'm still wantin' some of that cake."

"So anything good on?" Averman asked, glancing up at the framed photos on the entertainment center.

Right next to the TV, Charlie still had his trophy from peewees, sandwiched between a picture of the team after they beat the Hawks, and another picture of him and his son Josh at a hockey game.

In the latter, both were beaming after the Wild scored against the Redwings, Charlie and Josh in their matching hunter green jerseys; both with the same eyes and the same wavy brown hair.

As Averman looked closer, he couldn't help but notice that the picture was at least seven or eight years old. In it, Charlie's hair was still thick at the top; Josh still a pudgy little kid with round cheeks and a big, gapped smile.

.

He thought back to that version of Josh, and then of the argument he'd seen on Instagram a few months before, of Josh talking about how his dad was a 'washed-up, life ruining loser'.

He'd clicked over to Josh's profile out of curiosity.

Josh wore a lot of black now.

He didn't exactly look like the kind of kid who liked hockey. Or his dad. Or much of anything.

And based on the four divorces and two bankruptcies, Averman couldn't really blame the kid.

* * *

August 22, 2000

"So how's Dartmouth?"

Julie sat in her room, alone. Out in the hallway, she could hear the chatter of new friends making dinner plans, and the excited squeals of girls comparing their 'going out' outfits for the night. Parents had only driven away four hours earlier, yet already, the hum of Dartmouth's social scene could be heard throughout the dorm as the smell of AquaNet and Victoria's Secret Love Spell filled the air.

Looking over, she could see the pewter frames on her roommate's desk, filled with pictures from her family's trip to Spain, and a prep school commencement that looked quite a bit more picturesque than Eden Hall's.

.

As the Gaffney family had first arrived on campus, Julie felt more at home than she ever had back in Minnesota: The glamazons were fewer. The girls getting out of the Jeeps and Volvos had on sensible outfits, and all seemed to eschew the Abercrombie miniskirts and teetering heels that girls like Erica Tate insisted on wearing everywhere. Though Adam's own fears of inadequacy had played in her mind a few times, as she looked around at the sea of L.L. Bean totes and non-descript polos, she breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that she was finally at home.

And then the introductions began.

Deerfield. Middlesex. Choate.

Greenwich. Darien. Westport.

Martha's Vineyard. Belize. Monte Carlo.

These were _not_ people with cow themed bathrooms at home.

"It's good. Very...fancy. How about Minnesota?"

"Pretty much _exactly_ how it always has been." Adam chuckled, his voice at the other end of the line a welcome bit of familiarity in this very unfamiliar place.

"So they haven't like, suddenly moved it to Florida?"

"Nah, no flamingos in sight. Just the same boring shithole it's always been."

Julie laughed, glancing back over at the cork board above her desk. Over or not, she still had their prom picture pinned up there, right alongside a photo taken their sophomore year from when they snuck up onto his parents' roof to gaze out at the stars; a plaid blanket draped over them both.

That really _had_ been a lovely night.

As a shooting star passed through the darkness, she'd closed her eyes and squeezed his hand, wishing that they could be together like that for forever.

"You know, I'm pretty sure if this whole hockey thing doesn't work out, you've got a job waiting for you with the state tourism board."

"Yeah, I'm already working with them. We're thinking of changing the state motto from 'Land of 1,000 Lakes' to 'At least we aren't Iowa'."

"It's a good motto." She agreed. "Very accurate."

"Thanks. I do what I can."


	14. Never Have I Ever

"Never have I ever kissed another dude to try to impress a girl."

"I hate you."

"Dude, cakeeater, you've got to drink up on this one, too."

"No way! That was fuckin' bro rape. I did _not_ want any part of that."

.

The group having tired of the television options an hour earlier, everyone soon moved onto the classic drinking game, 'Never have I ever'.

For the first few rounds, things stayed pretty tame; everybody sticking with general interest picks like 'Never have I ever gotten a tattoo' or 'Never have I ever been arrested'. However, as the alcohol continued to flow, and people became more comfortable around one another, the picks became more specific, allowing long-forgotten escapades to resurface.

Having already been called out for the time he gave himself a concussion while getting a blowjob, Portman decided to return the favor by reminding Charlie of the time junior year when he attempted to impress a girl by kissing Adam...a move that, unsurprisingly, did _not_ work as hoped.

 _Though it was pretty hilarious._

.

"Whatever man. You know you liked it." Charlie joked, reaching over to ruffle Adam's hair; Julie still in Adam's lap.

"No offense, but if I were gay, I'm pretty sure I'd pick someone hotter than you."

"You know that was the best night of your life!"

"Yeah," Adam deadpanned, trying to shake a sprig of hair out of his eyes. "I jerk off every night thinking about you in your flannel and worn out Reeboks. It's really what gets me going."

"Screw you."

"Nah, that's the entire point. I very much do _not_ want to screw you."

"Loser."

"Okay, my turn." Averman chimed in, happy to embarrass his old pal Goldberg. "Never have I ever pretended to be related to be related to Barbra Streisand to get in a girl's pants."

Laughing, the whole crew remembered the time that Goldberg had half the school convinced that he was related to dozens of famous Jewish people; Eden Hall's WASPy-ness a perfect foil for anybody who wasn't Protestant, white, and Midwestern.

 _The place could have made a ranch dressing ad look diverse..._

"Hey man, I can't help it that we had like, two Jews at Eden Hall. I was going to milk that for all it was worth!"

"But Barbra Streisand?"

"It worked better than making out with a dude!"

"Seriously." Adam pointed out, still half traumatized from that blunder. "In what world did you ever think _that_ would work?"

"I don't know." Charlie shrugged. "It's hot when girls make out. I didn't see why the opposite wouldn't work, too..."

* * *

September 5, 2000

"Well, the good news is that she's finally found love..."

Julie sat out in the dorm's common room, sprawled across a plaid sofa as she took advantage of the new 'free nights and weekends' addition to her phone plan.

Down the hall, she could hear a girl crying to her mom about the need for a new roommate, while a few feet away, another student was burning popcorn.

"That is fantastic. _Such_ great taste."

"This is Erica we're talking about." Adam reminded her at the other end of the line. "I'm just happy that she has a distraction from cooing about how _amazing_ it is that we're at the same school."

"It really is quite the coincidence." She agreed, trying not to think about the fact that every boy at Dartmouth reminded her of her first love; that she'd do a double take every time she heard a Midwest accent, or saw a crop of sandy hair.

 _Maybe he'll end up playing for the Bruins next year._

 _That would be nice_...

"I know. _Huge_ secret that I was going to be going here. Plus, you know, the one in a zillion odds that multiple people from Minnesota would end up going to Minnesota..."

" _So_ crazy. Right up there with winning the lottery or getting struck by lightning!"

"Exactly!"

"It really is a small world...

.

For the first two weeks of school, Adam had been dealing with an unwanted shadow in the form of Erica Tate.

Between Brittany Laws leaving for Wisconsin, and Tricia Micek deciding to go to Ole Miss, the Eden Hall cheerleader had been left without her usual entourage. Never one to be alone, when it dawned on her that Adam too was still at U of M, she had taken to following him everywhere she could. On multiple occasions, she had invited herself up to his fifth floor apartment downtown, leading to not one but _three_ awkward evenings of her sitting in his living room while he attempted to watch _Sports Center_ in peace.

.

Fortunately for all involved, the week before, she'd found the one other person on the planet who could share her surprise at the idea of two people from Minneapolis _ending up at school in Minneapolis_ : Brian McGill.

.

"So how do you feel about her taste in love interests?" Julie asked, recalling the bloody match-ups against Shattuck-St. Mary's.

"Erica and a PIKE-reject who barely knows how to write his own name? It's a match made in heaven."

"You're so mean!"

"To which one? She literally spent an entire night on my sofa because I couldn't get her to take the hint!"

"Okay, true." Julie laughed. "You're also probably the only guy in history to have random girls sleeping on your couch because you _didn't_ want to sleep with them."

"What? It's Erica, not Sarah Michelle Gellar."

"That's literally not relevant to anyone else."

"So how about you?" Adam asked, staring out at the city skyline as they talked. "Any updates on the saga of Ashley and her overflowing wardrobe?"

"I swear. Her shoes multiply at night. It's like bunnies-this morning, I found a pair of her flip flops under my bed."

"You have a clothing orgy going on." He nodded solemnly, getting up to grab a glass of water. "You need to figure out how this works so you can start breeding clothes. Endless khakis could be pretty great."

"You are _such_ a weirdo."

"I'm just being practical. I had to spend like, $400 at Dayton's yesterday."

"Get anything good?"

"Nah. Just like, replacing khakis and stuff. Hence the need to figure out how to breed my clothes."

* * *

"So. Shall you be joining me in bed tonight?" Adam whispered, his breath warm on Julie's neck.

She still sat curled in his lap, his arm around her waist as the rest of the Ducks continued their banter. Giggling, she leaned in even closer, her face now resting against his.

"I'm pretty sure you're married." She reminded him, running a finger over the stubble that was beginning to grow along his cheek and jawline. Flecked with silver, it stood out against his now ruddier complexion.

"Oh gosh. I didn't mean in in that way!" He shook his head, turning bright fuchsia as he clarified his intent for the night. "I meant, Charlie has a perfectly good bed saved for me, and I _promise_ that I'm comfier to sleep with than the floor."

"And Laura is going to be okay with that?"

"I can build an entire wall of pillows between us if I have to! It's definitely okay."

Looking into those lovely blue eyes, Julie just smiled.

If it weren't for the fact that he was married, she would have been okay with a _lot_ more than simply sharing a bed.

"And you'll have enough room?"

 _Finding a comfortable sleeping position is difficult enough without a spine full of titanium..._

"Do I _look_ like I'm 900 lbs.?"

"You know that's not what I meant. Dork."

...

"Never have I ever ditched a date to go watch hockey."

"Whatever dude. That's a failure on _your_ end." Jesse laughed, happy to give Ken a hard time as the majority of the Ducks found themselves having to drink up to that round.

Amused, Russ reached back for a bowl of popcorn that sat on the coffee table, recalling the fight that ensued with Shamika over the cancelled plans.

.

Even with Jesse going to school the next state over, word had tended to travel back to Eden Hall pretty quickly; leaving all to know of his misadventures in back in Milwaukee.

.

"Didn't you get your ghetto card revoked for that one?"

"I'm still blacker than the ace of spades, man."

"Yeah right. Next thing you knew, you were dating some white chick, going to check out the creepy sound in an old farmhouse."

"Whatever. You probably go apple picking every fall."

"Shit yeah." Russ agreed with a shrug. "White people knew what they were doing on that one. Apples are awesome."

"Yeah. When you buy them at the _store_."

"You're missin' out, man."

.

A moment later, Charlie's turn arrived. Remembering the 'bro rape' comment, he decided that it was time to return the favor; happy to give a hard time to the old teammate sitting at the other end of his sofa.

"Never have I ever bitched that practices were too _short_."

"Yup. And who set the all-time scoring record?"

"That one never has been broken." Charlie chuckled, shaking his head. "Two decades, and I still haven't seen anyone come close."

"See?"

"You'd better watch out." Fulton reminded him, looking back at the two of them as he thought about how unfair it was that his most dedicated teammate had gone nearly two decades without stepping foot out on the ice. "Eventually Eden Hall will realize they've got the wrong guy coaching."

 _I know he can't very well play anymore, but he really should have done something different._

 _That was just too much hockey knowledge to let go to waste._

"Yeah." Charlie agreed, his voice serious this time. "There'd probably be a few more National Championship banners up there if we had him around."

* * *

October 8, 2000

"I am _so_ dead."

Julie sat in front of the mirror, the phone cradled against her shoulder as she looked at what she'd done.

Her new nose ring glimmered in the light, the gold stud now the only thing that she could see.

.

A week earlier, getting her nose pierced had seemed like a _lovely_ idea. As she and her roommate Ashley walked into the piercing studio downtown, not a qualm passed her mind, aside from a brief flick of concern about the pain. Fifteen minutes later, they'd walked out triumphant; proud to no longer be the sheltered private school kids they'd been just a few months before.

The problem was, that had been a week prior.

 _September_.

It was now early _October_ , and as fall break approached, Julie found herself reminded of the fact that she had parents.

Parent's who might not approve of this hole she'd added to her face.

"Heh, I'm pretty sure they'll get over it." Adam assured her, still as steadfast as usual.

 **...**

Ashley couldn't understand her concern: Ashley's brother was now a cross dresser in San Francisco. After _that_ bombshell, Mr. and Mrs. Handretti were no longer the sorts to micromanage appearances.

Connie too failed to see what the issue was: In _her_ case, Guy had decided he wanted to leave U of M for the minors once the year ended. She'd already told her parents that she planned on dropping out of junior college to follow...a move that, unsurprisingly, meant they now had far bigger concerns than their daughter's sartorial choices.

Adam, on the other hand, well, he was still the same dutiful son he'd always been, cognizant parents or no.

 **...**

"My dad? Maybe. My mom? Have you forgotten about the time I highlighted my hair? Pretty sure she'll literally kill me. And then herself. You'll have to fly out to the funeral and everything!"

Adam laughed, thinking about the menagerie of mild dysfunction that seemed to define all three Gaffney sons as as he sprawled across his leather sofa, the Minneapolis skyline glimmering in the background.

"How'd she ever survive your brothers?"

"She doesn't care! She's given up on them. I'm her one child left to make her proud."

"I'm pretty sure you're still doing that."

"I am _not_." Julie whined. "As far as she'll be concerned, I might as well drop out and join the circus."

 _The kind with a big tent and cool animals?_

"You'd get to hang out with lions and travel the country if you did that!" He pointed out, his mind now consumed with how much fun it would be to snuggle lions and see places that weren't covered in snow. "It could be pretty fun."

 _I mean, they just look so fluffy._..

"You are such a loser."

"You know those lion manes look awfully cuddly."

"How do you even think about these things?" She asked, leaning in closer to get another look at the gold stud.

"How do you _not_ think about these things? They're like, the most important issues facing our nation today."

"Cuddly lions?"

"Pssh, _yeah_."

.

For a brief moment, Julie's thoughts wandered away from the dread of disappointing her mother, and back to the lovably absurd debates that had filled many an evening in high school. She could smell the Acqua di Gio and old-building musk of his dorm room, and feel his sheets cool against her skin.

In _this_ world, they could spend the next two hours arguing about whether polar bears really build snowmen and drink Coca Cola, or whether hamburger trees exist; all the while with sounds of Metallica coming through the walls.

 _High school was pretty nice..._

 _._

"Weirdo."

" _I'm_ not the one who decided to get my nose pierced."

"Not. Helping."

"I was kidding. Seriously. I'm sure it looks beautiful, and that your parents will be just fine with it...once they take a day or two get over the shock."

"Easy for you to say! You're as perfect as you've always been."

 _Oh boy..._

"Have you forgotten about how endless my capacity for stupid choices is?" He reminded her, his own father's criticisms not far from mind.

Even with Phil six feet under the ground, not a day had passed when he couldn't hear the patriarch's words playing through his head, reminding him of the many ways in which he was inadequate.

.

"Sweater vests are a questionable decision." Julie joked, getting up to grab a soda from the refrigerator. "But I don't think that counts."

"First of all, fuck you. But yeah, no. Trust me, you bring me home, and I'll put your nose ring to shame."

"Well, now you've just got me curious."

"Stay curious! That's what you get for insulting my sweater vest collection."

"Fine." She giggled. "I love you and your sweaters. Now do tell."

"Okay, well, for one, I managed to break off a piece of my front tooth last night, so until I can get it fixed, I'm looking pretty special-ed worthy."

 _Ouch._

"And how did you do that?"

"You know how some people can open a beer with their teeth?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not one of them."

"Oh my gosh, no! Are you okay?"

"Other than my pride? Yes." He assured her, laughing as he ran his tongue along the jagged edge of tooth. "But my pride is definitely _not_ okay!"

 _And my tongue won't be, either, if I don't stop doing that_.

"Oh man, yeah, that does not sound fun."

"Super not fun. Turns out my dad was totally right whenever he'd call me an idiot."

.

For a moment, Julie grew quiet: She knew it was an offhand comment, but still, it made her sad.

Adam of all people deserved better.

.

"Whatever. If _that's_ the dumbest thing you've done this year, you're really doing this whole college thing wrong."

"Oh, I can assure you." He chuckled. "That is definitely _not_ it for my stupid decisions thus far. "It's just the most recent. Last month's tattoo was _way_ dumber."

"Wait. What?"

.

Her eyes grew wide at the very thought of this.

Nice, tasteful-to-a-fault Adam ever finding himself in a tattoo parlor? This from the same guy who acted like cargo pants were the second coming of the apocalypse?

 _What's next?_

 _People buying phones without buttons?_

.

"Yeah..."

"Umm, I expect details! What? Where? _Why_?"

"Okay, well, somewhere in my drunken imagination, I decided that getting the Sigma Chi letters tattooed on my hip, but with the 'X' made out of hockey sticks would be a _great_ idea."

" _What_?"

"Yeah. Turns out my imagination is fucking stupid, and there's no way I should ever do anything my brain comes up with."

She could only imagine the angst he must have felt the next day; his perfectionism not the sort of thing that allowed for such misadventures. Still, she couldn't help but smile at the mental image. As dumb as it was, it was also one of the most bro-tastic things she'd ever heard.

 _Plus, when you look like him, literally anything can be sexy_.

"I mean, I could have told you that based on your desire to cuddle lions."

"That is _not_ a bad idea." He reminded her. "That's an awesome idea. You're just jealous because they give you some kind of cat inferiority complex."

"I hate you."

"Uh huh. Yeah. You certainly always liked using me as a scratching post..."

"Oh my gosh-"Julie buried her face in her hands laughing, her ill-advised nose ring now the furthest thing from her mind. "You are-I hate you so much!"

"Pretty sure I can still find a few traces of you on my shoulders if I look hard enough..."

"No words for how much I hate you."

"You're the one who left me maimed from your claws."

"Jerk."

* * *

Author's note: I apologize if these past two chapters haven't been terribly eventful. Believe me, like the Titanic, there's _plenty_ of eventfulness to come in the next couple of chapters. For now, let us enjoy the final moments of Young Adam/Julie being Young Adam/Julie;)


	15. Paralyzed

"You need a hand there?"

Now past midnight, everybody had retired to the various ends of the house to get ready for bed. Conceding that it _would_ make sense to room with Adam for the night, the two were now in Josh's old room; a space that had been frozen in time.

On one wall hung a _Cars_ poster, Lightning McQueen now faded to salmon. In another corner sat Josh's old toy box, his name stenciled across the front in red and blue. Piled on top were a bunch of cardboard boxes, labeled 'X-Mas' and 'Shannon Living Room', the handwriting belonging to one of Charlie's ex-wives.

"I've got it." Adam shook his head, struggling with the buttons of his shirt. "My fingers just suck."

"Understood."

.

Julie had already changed over in the other corner, Adam politely looking away as she slid out of her dress and into a set of flannel pajamas.

Unfortunately for his ego, her transformation was complete before he'd even gotten half of his shirt undone; leaving him faced with the prospect of her watching him undress.

At _15_ , that would have been a fantasy.

.

Of course, at 15, his fingers didn't labor with buttons.

At 15, he wasn't two decades removed from functioning abdominal muscles.

Now, 30 lbs., too many years, and too many surgeries later, he struggled to slide his thumb under the buttonhole of his oxford. As he fought with the Egyptian cotton, he thought in horror of what lie beneath: Given a choice between Julie seeing the mounds of misshapen flesh vs. joining a witness protection program and moving to Siberia, he knew that a handle of vodka and a pet grizzly bear were calling his name. As he watched her brow furrow with pity, he began to wonder how long he'd last in the Russian tundra; the lack of seat warmers in a Lada his biggest concern.

 _I should have been more specific when I said I wanted girls to take my clothes off..._

.

Meanwhile, content to give him his privacy, Julie pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. Noticing Josh's old _Fireman Sam_ sheets, she did her best to shake the feeling of sadness as she straightened her pillow.

* * *

November 20, 2000

 _"And this is Casey Kasem with another long distance dedication..."_

"Did I make a mistake?" Julie moaned, sitting at her desk; her face illuminated by the computer screen.

It was Saturday morning, and she and her roommate Ashley were lounging in their dorm, both recovering from hangovers sustained the night before. _America's Top 40_ played in the background, Casey Kasem and the week's pop hits filling the silence as both bemoaned the frat house adventures that had put them in such a state.

As Julie logged into her Hotmail account, she felt a knot in the pit of her stomach-a feeling that she was unsure as to whether to blame on the three bottles of Boone's Farm, or the email staring her in the face.

Adam had emailed the night before.

He'd sent a photo attachment. A photo of him and a smiling, freshly scrubbed sorority girl with a blonde bob and pearl earrings; the kind of girl who's mediocre appearance was really beside the whole point.

 _She_ looked the kind of girl Dartmouth was made for.

The kind of girl who summered on Martha's Vineyard, and played tennis, and wore madras un-ironically.

The kind of girl Adam belonged with.

 _Cat Lady,_

 _I hope you're having a fun Friday night._

 _Things are going really well back here, but I know Minnesota misses you._

 _The good news is, I think I found someone I really like. She's an economics major, and she agrees that it's okay to eat chicken strips for every meal. Pretty sure she couldn't care less about hockey, but I guess I can forgive her._

 _Anyway, I hope you're doing well!_

 _Take care,_

 _Adam_

.

Leaning over to look at the photograph, Ashley just laughed.

"Definitely."

"Jerk!"

"I was kidding!" Ashley assured her, reaching for a bottle of Evian.

"No you weren't."

"No. Actually I was.

Ashley paused, looking back and forth between the computer screen and her roommate; back and forth between the two people posed in front of the Sigma Chi house, smiling in their matching Lacoste polos, and her roommate's recently acquired nose ring.

"I mean, don't get me wrong." She clarified. "He's hot. _Really_ hot. But he's back in Minnesota, and more importantly, I'm _thinking_ you two don't have just a ton in common."

"And what do you mean by that?"

.

Somehow, despite the inevitability of it all, it had never _quite_ dawned on her Adam would eventually find someone else.

Even when he'd mentioned other girls during their conversations, it hadn't quite sunk in: They had all sounded like passing phases; like something that would be forgotten shortly. But now...now it felt real.

This wasn't a girl he'd rejected. This was a girl he posed for pictures in matching outfits with. A girl who he had his arm around, and who made his face light up the same way that she herself once had.

.

"What I mean is that they look ridiculous!"

"They do not!"

"So you're telling me that _you're_ dying to wear an outfit like that?"

"Well, no, but there's nothing wrong with it."

"Of course there's not." Ashley agreed thoughtfully. "But it's not you."

"But what if it should be?"

"It's not.

Ashely paused, wrapping one of her dark ringlets around her finger. She glanced over at the posters and tapestries on her roommate's side of the dorm; at the ripped jeans on the floor and the strand of twinkle lights draped from the ceiling. And then, she glanced back at the computer screen; back at the sterile, country club perfection staring back at them. Back at the two perfect blondes, in their perfect pastel polos and their perfect khakis, smiling the perfect smiles of two people who would never leave their gated communities except for a once-a-year pilgrimage to the Mercedes dealership.

"Like, from all you've told me, he sounds like a really nice person, and I'm sure he's going to have a wonderful life, but it doesn't mean that's the life for _you_. I think you have a lot more to give the world than the direction he's headed."

"I don't know..."

"Well I do. There are a lot of wonderful people out there. That doesn't mean they're right for you."

"Yeah, but he was different..."

Ashley sat back in her bed, thinking back to the old phone conversations she'd overheard, and to her own experiences with the kinds of boys who shopped at Brooks Brothers on the weekends.

"Maybe so, but you're different, too. A different _kind_ of different."

* * *

"You're seriously going to build a pillow wall between us?" Julie laughed, looking over at the fiberfill barrier that had been erected down the middle of the bed.

Determined not make her feel uncomfortable, Adam had indeed built his own border wall between the two of them, giving her more than 2/3 of the bed as he clung to the edge of the mattress.

"What? I didn't want you to think I was being a perv."

"I wasn't too worried about that." She smiled, reaching over to dismantle his creation. "I _am_ worried, on the other hand, that you're going to fall off the bed."

"I'm fine."

Throwing the extra pillows and old stuffed animals off to the side, she put her arm around Adam, rolling him over towards her. Once he was no longer clinging to the edge, she just shook her head and chuckled, her arm still draped over him as he laid on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

"I think you're a mess."

"It's taken this long to figure that out?" He shrugged, turning over to face her. Looking into her eyes, not a thing had changed; his beloved Cat Lady still as kind as ever. "I'm really worried about the quality of patient care there in Boston."

"Jerk."

"I'm just saying. If it's taken you _this_ long to realize that I'm a mess, I'm worried about what the lag time is to get a diagnosis on something that's not as obvious."

"Whatever. I've always known you were a mess. Loser."

"Aw man. So mean, too." He shook his head, reaching over to brush a strand of hair out of her face. "I feel _very_ attacked."

"As you should. Keep it up, and I'll push you off the bed!"

"Go sniff some catnip."

* * *

January 1, 2001

 _Hey. Julie. This is Adam. I hadn't heard from you in awhile—I know you've been busy with hockey and everything. I hope you got the Christmas card I sent. Anyway, I just wanted to wish you a happy new year. I still miss you like crazy—not like that I mean, but you know...anyway, I hope you're doing well. And happy new year_.

Julie replayed the message as she packed her things to head back to New Hampshire; the Gaffney's white Christmas lights still twinkling in her window.

She hadn't meant to miss his call the night before.

Or the one on Christmas eve.

Or the one the week before that.

She had also meant to thank him for the Christmas card—he was the one male on the planet under the age of 50 who sent out Christmas cards, and he _really_ did have lovely taste. This year it had been glittery wisemen on thick, sumptuous cardstock, complete with a gold-lined envelope and a long handwritten message about how proud he was of her accomplishments. When she read it, she'd smiled at the neat handwriting, knowing full and well that it meant he'd taken his time; his handwriting was only legible if he stopped and thought about each letter as he wrote it.

.

She could picture him at his desk, carefully writing each letter as he sat there in his monogrammed boxers and a cashmere tee; his arm likely iced down after another grueling practice.

.

The whole thing had been very thoughtful, and _very_ Adam.

Still, she'd been busy, and all of his calls had gone unreturned.

" _I'll call him when I get back to New Hampshire_." She told herself as she folded a sweatshirt; a part of her knowing that as soon as she got back, 1,000 other things would once again take up her attention.

* * *

"Goodnight old _Cars_ poster."

"Goodnight silly bedsheets."

"Goodnight stuffed hedgehog."

Over the past decade, Adam had read _Goodnight Moon_ more times than he could count, often joining his kids in their own versions of the bedtime ritual. Now, at a loss for what else to say as his first love lay curled up beside him, he once again found himself saying goodnight to the various odds and ends of the room that hadn't received much love in recent years. Julie joined in, her face nuzzled in his shoulder as she breathed in the familiar scent of Acqua Di Gio on his pajamas.

"Goodnight race car nightstand."

"Goodnight sad hockey equipment."

"Goodnight stick figure drawing."

"Goodnight Shannon's living room."

"Goodnight moon."

"Goodnight, Cat Lady." He whispered, leaning over to kiss the top of her forehead.

"Goodnight, Adam." She replied, wrapping her arm around his chest as she held him close; unable to let go.

.

In the ways that mattered, he really was exactly the same as he'd always been.

Nothing could ever change that.

* * *

April 5, 2001

"Julie?" A concerned voice at the other end of the phone asked.

 _Connie?_

Julie yawned as she stared down at her fuzzy striped socks. Until the ringing of her dorm room's phone had awaken her, she'd been curled up with her floral print comforter, enjoying a much-needed nap. At that moment, she was practically counting down the seconds until she could get off the phone to resume the love affair with her pillow and comforter, whatever Connie had to say be damned.

"Hey Connie, is it okay if I call you back?" She mumbled, her eyelids still heavy with sleep. "I was kind of napping."

"Julie, this is important. Something—something bad happened."

 _Uh huh._

 _Yeah._

 _Okay._

"What did Guy do this time?" She asked, trying her best to feign concern.

"It's not Guy, it's Adam—"

 _"Okay, yeah, he's dating some sorority girl from Winnetka. That's not exactly news, Cons."_ She thought, still in her sleepy haze.

"I don't know if you were watching the game," Connie continued, trying to find the words to tell her friend what had happened, "but he—he got hurt."

 _Damnit._

 _._

She did feel guilty about the fact that she was _napping_ through the last game of the Frozen Four, as well as for the fact that she'd never called Adam to congratulate him on making it that far.

She had meant to do that.

But, school work and hockey had been a grueling combo.

Plus, and perhaps more importantly, she couldn't quite bear to.

.

Dartmouth was nice.

She loved her friends and teammates.

But, whenever she thought about men's hockey-particularly _Minnesota_ men's hockey-it was salt in an open wound.

.

Nobody cared about women's hockey in New Hampshire.

.

She missed the sense that the outcome of games _mattered_ , and not just to the people in the stands. And so, that afternoon, she'd spent her time lounging around her room, eating pizza rolls and cookie dough, catching up on the sleep she'd missed the night before.

Sleep that she'd missed hanging out with Alexandre.

.

Alexandre was _not_ men's hockey.

He was French and lovely and enjoyed red wine and hashish. They'd stayed up until three in the morning, getting to know one another in ways that Adam would have deemed improper...an admittedly low bar if ever there was one.

.

 _Adam_.

" _It's his arm, isn't it_?" She realized, her mind going back to that night their freshman year when she watched his body careen down the marble staircase.

She could feel her blood pressure rising as she saw his body twisted and lifeless there at the bottom; as she thought about the fact that Phil could do that to his own son. As she thought about the fact that Adam had been playing through so much pain for the last four years, all because his dad had been a moron.

 _"It's a good thing that asshole is dead, because I'd go kill him right now_." She thought, indignant at the idea that he could take away the one thing Adam had ever cared about.

"He broke his neck, Julie." Connie continued, trying not to choke on her own words. "He's paralyzed."

"Is-is he okay?"

Even as she said it, none of it seemed real.

Of course he was okay.

He was always okay.

Nobody landed themselves in the emergency department quite as often, sure, but nobody recovered as fully, either.

Why would this be any different?

"No.

"He's-he's in surgery right now." Connie continued, her own words broken up by the lump in the back of her throat. "Assuming he lives, they don't think he's going to be able to move anything below his shoulders. Like…ever."

 _"Of course he will."_ She thought to herself _, "He'll be emailing me next week playing this whole thing off, like "Well, I'm supposed to sit out two more games, but I don't know why. It's just a broken neck; I don't see what they're making such a big deal about."_

That was how things worked.

"Come on. This is Adam we're talking about."

 _He's fine._

 _He has to be fine._

"I'm sorry, Julie."

 _Shit_.

"No."

"I'm so sorry."

"This—no. Not him."

"I know. I know. I'm so sorry."

 _Fuck._

 _"_ Paralyzed? _"_

 _"_ Yeah _."_

"For-forever?"

"Yeah."

"When will you know anything else?"

"They just took him into surgery a few minutes ago. I don't know how long it'll be. But when he gets out, I guess we'll at least knew whether he made it."

"Will you call me?"

"Of course."

"And if you see him before me, will you tell him I love him?"

"Of course."

 _He has to be okay._


	16. Coffee Prices

April 6, 2001

 _What would you do if your son was at home  
Crying all alone on the bedroom floor, 'cause he's hungry  
And the only way to feed him is to sleep with a man  
For a little bit of money_

"Look at the bright side" Ashley suggested, "at least he isn't whoring himself out to buy Geranimals. So, it could be worse, right?"

City's High's 'What Would You Do?" was playing over the stereo of her roommate's Mazda as Julie sank back into the seat, watching as the highway stretched ahead.

With that, Julie once again found herself crying, her head pressed against the passenger window as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"He'll never be _able_ to whore himself out…"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm guessing his pretty crushed by that change in career plans..."

"Seriously. I just…I don't know. It's not fair."

"I know."

...

The good news was that he'd made it through surgery.

The bad news was everything else.

Twelve hours after Connie's call, Julie found herself headed into Boston to catch the first morning flight to Minneapolis. Now 4 a.m., that planned return to her nap had proven elusive. The entire night, she'd managed a grand total of two hours of sleep—two hours that would leave her crying every time she woke up.

In her dreams, he was still _him_. Still scoring the winning goal in the last championship game of their high school careers. Still walking through the grassy courtyard of Eden Hall with her, and picking her up in his arms when they hugged. In her dreams, the whole world was still ahead of him, and life was still the way it was supposed to be.

And then, she would wake up.

.

Within a few seconds, she'd once again find herself aware that there would be no more winning goals. No more walks through the courtyard. That he'd never again be able to put his arms around her, or feel the wet grass on a cool spring morning. That he'd never again be _Adam Banks_.

It wasn't fair.

Nobody deserved that fate.

Certainly not him.

Especially not him.

…

"It's just…"

"I know. I'm sorry."

* * *

Hearing a crash, Julie opened her eyes to realize that the bed beside her was empty, but the floor was not.

There, lying on the carpet, was Adam; his attempt at getting out of bed having literally fallen flat. He was now facedown, trying in vain to get up before Julie could notice the indignity of the situation.

His nose still buried in polyester loop, he shifted his weight to roll over when he heard the very words he dreaded.

"Oh my gosh! Are you okay?"

 _"Fuck."_ He thought, shutting his eyes as he begged for the carpet to swallow him whole.

 _At least I have my teeth in this time._

"Yeah, I'm fine."

* * *

April 6, 2001

Five hours later, she was in Connie's arms, standing by the baggage claim of Minneapolis-St. Paul International.

.

It was real now.

.

That whole time in the front seat of Ashley's Mazda-that whole time crammed into the middle seat of her flight-there was a piece of her refused to believe that any of this was happening. That it wasn't all some sick prank. She kept imagining that when she arrived at the airport, Adam would be there with a dozen roses, blaming Charlie/Larson/Scott/Whatever Random Friend for their warped sense of humor. Or, perhaps, that it had all been some sort of misunderstanding-that he had indeed gotten hurt, but that just as she'd initially suspected, everything would be fine.

Another concussion, maybe.

Perhaps a pinched nerve or a ruptured disk.

Something that might mean a month or two of taking it easy, and that perhaps would prove annoying from time to time as the years went on, but ultimately wouldn't be _that_ big of a deal.

As Connie stood there in track pants and an old sweatshirt of Guy's, however, it became real. With her limp hair and tear swollen eyes, Connie was not someone who'd heard good news that morning.

"I'm sorry." Connie repeated over and over. "I'm so so sorry."

.

Making their way out to Connie's beloved Mitsubishi Eclipse, Julie thought that whole time of the magazine features she'd read on Christopher Reeve, and the people she'd avert her eyes from when they went out to eat. She thought of their summer together back in Bangor just a few months before; of climbing the fire watchtower buzzed on pilfered Everclear, and making out on the dock behind her house; of the way that the water glistened on his sunkissed abs.

It wasn't congruous.

He could never be the former.

He was too capable. Too full of life. Too _sexy_.

God could never let something like that happen to someone like him.

He just couldn't.

* * *

"We good now?"

"Of course." Adam chuckled, doing his best to hide his shame beneath a sunny veneer.

His elbow stung, courtesy of a bit of carpet burn.

.

He thought of watching the boys when they were toddlers; still getting the hang of walking. They'd crash to the floor and spring right back up, completely unfazed. They weren't embarrassed. They didn't decide to go slower the next time, or hold to the side of the couch for support. They'd just go right back at it, convinced they'd do better the next time.

Will in particular was unstoppable; he wasn't going to let his older brother win. He'd go flying across the concrete, and before anyone could even ask him if he was alright, he'd have Tucker tackled into the bushes. Laura would worry, but Adam knew there was nothing to worry about.

Will was the kind of kid who was going to do just fine in life.

.

Of course, Adam realized, Toddler Will was not 6'3 and 230 lbs.

.

Kids that age were meant to fall down and spring back up. It's what their bodies were designed for.

Adult bodies, on the other hand, weren't meant for that. The engineering specs were all based on the assumption that by the time a person was tall enough to ride the roller coasters at Disney World, they'd no longer fall trying to get out of bed. Damaged spinal cords and useless limbs weren't really factored into the design calculations.

 _Nothing_ about the last twenty years had been factored into the design calculations.

.

"Charlie has nice carpet." He continued, hoping against all logic that if he just kept talking it would somehow make things _less_ awkward. That driveling on would somehow change the fact that his first love had had to help free him from his Stainmaster captor. "It makes for a much softer landing than the parquet at home."

 _Aaand, this is why you've kissed two women in your life, Cakeeater_.

Julie just shook her head, reaching to brush a sprig of hair out of his eyes.

Unable to quite let go, she buried her face in his shoulder, her hand ruffling the back of his hair.

"You _really_ don't let practical considerations get in the way of making sure things look perfect, do you?"

"Trust me." He smiled. "My life is depressing enough, as is. I'm not going to make everything look like a nursing home just to avoid a few bruises."

* * *

April 6, 2001

Arriving at the hospital, any bit of hope that remained was lost.

It was only 9 in the morning, yet already the waiting room was packed...or perhaps more accurately, it was still packed from the night before.

Looking around, Julie saw Charlie and Guy on a turquoise loveseat, Charlie's head rested against a coat as he tried to sleep. She saw Scott a few feet away, in faded flannel and work boots. At only 27, his face already sagged from the weight of existence; little left of the prep school bad boy cheerleaders had fawned over just a few years before.

The other figures were less familiar, but she recognized a couple as guys who used to play for Shattuck. Broad shouldered and buff, one had his rosary in his hand, his eyes threatening to well over with tears.

In another corner sat a quartet of preppies, all in rumpled khakis and Sigma Chi windbreakers.

Next to Minnesota's hulking defensive line, they looked like Peter Pan's Lost Boys, the smallest sprawled across a makeshift pallet on the floor. The physical dichotomy laid plain what he was: A kid, scared that he'd lost his favorite pledge brother.

.

This wasn't okay.

This wasn't business as usual.

Eleven years of hockey. Three brothers, and eleven years of hockey, and it was clear that this was something far outside the norm; that this was something that wasn't supposed to happen.

.

.

Her eyes scanning the room, one of the only empty seats was next to the girl she recognized from Adam's emails—a ruddy cheeked blonde in khakis and a Barbour jacket.

 _The girlfriend who agrees that chicken strips are appropriate for every meal_.

Unsure of how to feel, she felt tempted to go join the Lost Boy laying across the floor; his backpack pillow more appealing than having to sit down next to her replacement.

Still, logic won out, and Julie found herself making small talk with someone for whom years of cotillion classes hadn't translated into social ease.

.

"They really should reconsider their waiting room coffee." The WASP-ier blonde mused, staring down at the styrofoam cup cradled between her hands. "I mean, considering the cost of healthcare, I don't really think spending an extra $4 or $5 a day throughout the hospital system would be that great of a burden. And considering bulk discounts, that's probably at the higher end. A serviceable upgrade could be had for less."

"That bad, huh?"

"It really is. And the thing is that it's just such an avoidable bad." Laura continued, lost in the logistics of hospital expenditures. "I mean, the uncomfortable linens? There isn't really a cost-effective solution there, when you consider the disposal rate and the cleaning process needed. Same with the lack of proper creamer—I get that it's hard to keep everything health code compliant. But _this_ is an easy fix."

 _"Why do I feel like this is the kind of conversation she and Adam have on dates?"_ Julie thought, shaking her head as she recalled Adam's own tendency to over-analyze such topics.

.

For all of the quirks she missed, that one was not high on the list.

.

"Thanks for the warning."

"You're very welcome."

For a moment, their small talk petered out, discussions of coffee pricing having reached their logical end.

Julie looked back and forth between the blonde's gold Rolex and her own Baby G watch, left to contemplate how they could possibly come from the same planet. She folded her hands together, self-conscious of her chipped blue nail polish.

It was a silly thing to worry about under the circumstances, but still.

Insecurities didn't disappear just because there were bigger things going on in the world.

.

"I'm Laura, by the way." Laura finally offered, still hesitant to look up from her cup of coffee.

"Julie."

"That's what I figured." Laura nodded. "Adam always talked about you...I'm pretty sure he liked you more than he liked me."

"Heh, thanks."

"It's nice to finally meet you...well, other than you know..."

"Yeah."

" _Worst_ excuse for a get together ever." She chuckled, still staring down at her coffee.

 _Then again, it's not like there ever would have been any other reason for a get together_.

"Definitely!"

The pleasantries continued on for a moment, the sadness in Laura's eyes only growing.

.

For her, coffee prices had been a welcome distraction.

Coffee prices made sense.

Coffee prices were normal.

Coffee prices didn't derail a person's life. They didn't crush everything you hoped to accomplish one day. They didn't swoop in just as you were about to break up with your boyfriend; just as you were imagining bright, happy, _separate_ futures.

As she toyed with the interlocking bands of her Cartier ring, she knew that she'd sealed her fate.

By waiting until after playoffs, by waiting until after he'd gotten to bask in the post-championship celebrations, she'd inadvertently closed the door on her own dreams.

.

"Any updates?"

Laura shrugged, still toying with her trinity ring.

"I don't know. He made it through surgery, so I guess that's good. I think. _Maybe_.

The last word hung in the air.

She hadn't even meant to say it out loud, but as soon as it left her mouth, there was no taking it back.

.

She didn't mean it that way, of course.

But, she supposed, she didn't _not_ mean it that way, either.

Adam had just turned 20 over spring break. They'd just gotten back from sailing in the Caymans. He'd spent the entire time talking about the upcoming draft; about all of the things he was looking forward to doing once he was in the NHL. One morning when she'd joked about the sand being too hot, he picked her up and carried her all the way from their hotel room to the water, the glass of gin and tonic and a cigarette still in her hand.

And now doctors were telling him he'd never use the bathroom by himself.

.

"They said most of the spinal cord was still intact." She continued. "But...even so, it doesn't sound like they're really holding out much hope of him regaining any function. At least, nothing useful."

 _The life he knew is over._

 _The life **I** knew is over._

"Shit."

"Yeah..."

"Does he know yet?"

Laura nodded in the affirmative as Julie continued to feel the world crash down around her.

"I'm sorry."


	17. Horton

A/N: I decided to be good and finally move this one over to 'M'.

Also, advance apologies that this chapter isn't exactly any _less_ depressing.

* * *

April 6, 2001

 _You're not going to cry._

 _You're not going to cry._

 _You're not going to cry._

Walking down the hall towards his hospital room, Julie kept repeating the same mantra, steeling herself for what she was about to see.

She'd been told of the halo bolted into his skull, and of the way that the impact had been enough to shatter four of his front teeth. She knew of the bleak prognosis, and the way that he couldn't move anything below his neck.

She pictured a dark hospital room, and his body tiny and pale against the bed. Of him lying there, frail and helpless.

As she reached to open the door, she braced for the worst; determined that he not see how devastated she was.

After all, he had enough problems, as is.

"Adam?"

And then, for one brief, glorious moment, she realized that maybe it all _was_ a mistake, after all.

Light streamed in as she opened the door, the whole room illuminated by the spring blossoming outside. Looking over, he was _him_ , still freshly tanned from spring break; his body filling out the flimsy hospital gown. Heck, he was better looking than she remembered: A year of D1 hockey having added nearly 15 lbs. of muscle to slender frame.

 _I knew there had been some kind of mix up._

 _Everyone's just bummed that he's going to miss this year's draft_.

Walking towards him, a smile overtook her face as she realized that her prayers had been answered. Yes, his neck was probably broken-that would explain the halo, but still, life as everyone knew it would go on. Worst case scenario, the doctors would tell him he was through with competitive hockey. He'd end up in an NHL front office. And even that was just the worst case scenario.

"Julie?"

 _No._

 _No_.

Suddenly, it hit her that he was lying too still.

That he wasn't trying to sit up to greet her.

That his arms weren't moving.

.

This wasn't a mistake.

This was real.

"How ar-"

Before any other words could leave her mouth, the tears became too much to hold back; the lump in her throat too big to let her speak. She collapsed down into the chair beside his bed, her face buried in his still-chiseled abs.

"It's okay." He assured her, doing his best to keep his voice steady as she sobbed into his hospital gown. "I promise, it's not as bad as it looks. It's really not."

* * *

"Ah, I see somebody decided to grace us with his presence."

Adam looked down at his Rolex, the knot on the back of his head still throbbing from the night before.

 _10:09_

"It's not _that_ late." He pointed out, smiling as he reached over for a banana from a bowl on the counter.

.

The majority of the Ducks had already congregated in the kitchen for the morning, making small talk as they raided Charlie's refrigerator for food. Light streamed in through the French doors as people poured cereal and nibbled on toast, Googling brunch options in the city as they lounged in pajamas.

Adam had heard their chatter an hour earlier, and thought about joining.

 _But_ , he decided, lounging in pajamas was a luxury best reserved for people a bit more attractive than himself-instead, he went ahead and washed his face and got dressed before joining his old friends, hoping to hide the worst of his fading looks behind $200 fleece.

Digging through his overnight bag for moisturizer, he'd also retrieved a bottle of Xanax, pouring two white bars into his hand.

Looking into the mirror, it seemed a reasonable choice: He could hear laughter coming from the other room, and it seemed a safe bet that nobody much wanted to talk to a guy like him. A guy who was too scarred. Too fat. Too unsuccessful.

Putting the pills to his mouth, he also remembered the thousand talks with his psychiatrist, and the fact that trying to medicate away every uncomfortable feeling for the last twenty-three years hadn't actually produced _that_ great of results.

.

The marketing brochures in the doctor's office had been wrong-much to his chagrin, nothing Purdue Pharma made came with a puppy and smiling girlfriend.

.

This time, his therapist won out, his palms sweating as he reminded himself that he could always go smoke in his car alone if things got too bad.

.

"It's not. You still beat Charlie and Fulton."

"And you look nicer than I'm guessing either of them will."

"Fag."

"What?" Averman laughed. "He's a pretty guy."

"And you're pretty gay."

Averman and Portman continued their banter as Connie hopped down from her spot on the counter and carried over a chair from the dining table, motioning for Adam to sit down.

.

His cheeks turned pink at the gesture; her actions at once thoughtful and an unwanted reminder that he was no longer the one scoring goals and carrying pretty girls like princesses.

 _That he was an invalid_.

.

"You didn't need to do that."

"Figured you might as well be comfortable."

"Well thank you."

"So what are the morning plans?" Kenny asked to nobody in particular, the smell of burning toast coming from nearby.

* * *

April 6, 2001

Julie sat next to Adam's bed, the various beeps and whirs of the ICU filling the air around them.

Stroking his hand, she was careful not to wake him.

.

It was nice when he slept.

.

Awake, there was no distraction from reality. That morning when she saw him, there had been no ignoring the fact that nothing below his neck moved.

.

Until it was gone, she'd never thought about how much a person moves during a normal conversation: About all of the shrugs and nods and shifts in weight that aren't important enough to register in consciousness, but that help ease the flow of discussion. Without them, their absence was conspicuous; a constant reminder that something wasn't right.

Worse, when he was awake, she couldn't escape the sadness in his eyes.

As they'd talked, he'd smiled, and made the same endearingly lame jokes he always had. Even with the circumstances being what they were, he couldn't help but try to be a good host. Still, every time she'd look into his eyes, she'd notice that they were at risk of brimming over with tears.

He _knew_ what his prognosis was. He knew as well as anyone that even if every possible miracle rained down from the heavens, he'd _still_ be left with a shell of his former life.

But asleep?

When he slept, she didn't have to notice how still he was, or the pain in his eyes. She could just sit there in the hospital room, _being_ with him. Pretending that things were going to be okay.

And that was nice.

* * *

Ugh, why is there nothing in here for mimosas?" Connie complained, staring into the abyss of the refrigerator.

"Because apparently Charlie's not as much of an alcoholic as you are."

"Whatever."

As everybody sat around, the morning chatter continued, the group still waiting on the last of the late risers to get out of bed.

Inspecting the refrigerator, Connie had found the options woefully lacking; breakfast cereal and a wilted head of lettuce _not_ what she had in mind for a lazy Saturday morning.

"I'm siding with Connie on this one." Russ agreed. "Mimosas are a requirement."

"Thirding."

"Fourthing."

Dwayne shook his head, chuckling.

"Y'all need Jesus."

"Whatever, Cowboy."

"Didn't I pass a grocery store like, a mile from here?" Ken asked, typing directions to the nearest store into his phone.

"Yeah, I think there's a Meijer just down the road."

Connie closed the refrigerator and walked over to the next room to grab her purse; the solution to _this_ problem an obvious one.

"I think we need to make a morning champagne run." She suggested, Louis Vuitton bag in hand.

"I think you're right."

"I'm in."

Remembering that his car was parked at the end of the driveway, Adam stood up, fishing in his pockets for his keys and wallet.

"I can drive." He offered, the needlepoint key fob dangling from his hand.

* * *

April 7, 2001

"I'm not going back in there."

Julie paced the halls of Abbot Northwestern with Connie, taking in the labyrinth of beige, institutional tile.

It was now past midnight, and they'd walked mile after mile of windowless corridor, occasionally happening upon an elevator or cafeteria. After more than 12 sleep-deprived hours, the hospital had taken on a surreal quality; the endless loop of floors and waiting rooms and stairwells no longer quite real.

.

Still, that was better than the waiting room of the sixth floor ICU, where the sofas were filled with a rotating cast of muscled-up hockey players and random frat boys.

Every so often, two or three boys in boat shoes and Abercrombie sweaters would leave, and soon as they were gone, two or three more guys just like them would come to take their place.

There, things were real.

And that wasn't a reality Julie couldn't handle too much of at one time.

.

"I know. But you have to."

"It just...how could something like this happen?"

"I don't know."

"It's not fair."

"No. It's not."

.

The same conversation had been had a dozen times.

The same corridors had been walked a dozen times.

And yet, that didn't change anything.

Julie knew that she needed to back in and see him. But after breaking down and sobbing earlier that morning, she just couldn't make herself go back in there. Not when he was awake. Not when he could see her cry.

 _He has enough to worry about without having to try to cheer me up._

.

"Do you remember that time when he pulled something in his hip last year and had to miss like, two games?" Julie joked, thinking back to an incident the year before as she tried to take her mind off of the present.

.

Their senior year, he'd pulled his groin just a few weeks into the season. Despite the fact that it had been a minor injury, and despite the fact that they were more than a month away from any important games, his normal stoicism crumbled the second the Coach Wilson benched him. For nearly three weeks, everyone got to listen to his protests about the injustice of the situation, with even Charlie having to remind him that 'it's _just_ hockey'.

.

"Oh my gosh!" Connie laughed, "You would have thought it was the end of the world. And to top it off, weren't we playing like, JV and Breck?"

"Yes! Those were the two games!"

" _'But this will be the last time I get to play against Larson!'_ " Connie mimicked, recalling the angst-ridden epiphany about not getting to face off against his elementary school alma mater. "Like, yeah dude. You're best friends. He lives a block away. I don't think it's going to be _that_ hard to arrange a one-on-one game if you really want to."

"Good ol' Averman. Why was _he_ the only one who thought to just have Larson come over and remind him of that?"

"Because he's smarter than we are."

"Good point!"

"Larson looked at him like he was such a tard..."

"He _was_ being such a tard!"

"Those two really are peak tard together sometimes."

" _Sometimes_?" Connie chuckled.

"Okay. Always."

"He still came back like, stupidly early." She shook her head, thinking of how he insisted on playing in the game against Edina, even though he was limping whenever he was off the ice. Though the trainer told him he needed another week off, the whole thing had turned into a war of attrition, and good sense was no match for Adam's sheer determination.

Julie sighed.

"I so wanted to kill him for that."

"I know, me too. I would _not_ want to have to live in his body twenty years from now...

.

As soon as Connie said it, the weight of reality came flooding back, crushing both girls beneath the knowledge that those things weren't going to matter anymore.

That there were going to be far bigger long-term concerns than a few more aches and pains in middle age.

"Guess it's a good thing he got to play in that game." Connie muttered, her stomach sinking as she thought about how well he'd played, and the look on his face when they beat Edina 7-2.

"Yeah."

.

"How is he ever going to live like this?" Julie finally asked, the question on both of their minds too hard to ignore.

"He's one of the strongest people I know." Connie reminded her, pulling her into a hug. "If anyone can handle something like this, it would be him."

"Yeah..."

* * *

Soon enough, Russ, Connie, and Ken were all piled into the backseat of Adam's Audi, the two guys elbowing one another over who had more space. In the front seat, meanwhile, Julie relished in her permanent shotgun privileges, flipping through the car's touchscreen to find just the right song for her and Connie.

Before they'd even made it out of the driveway, she discovered just what she was hoping to find.

Mariah Carey.

 _Don't mind if I do_.

"You are _such_ a girl." Adam shook his head, chuckling.

.

It was _his_ phone that was plugged into the USB port, of course. But he figured that if he protested enough, that detail could remain his little secret.

.

"Whatever. You know you like ' _Always Be My Baby_ '."

"Well yeah, but I try not to publicly admit it."

"Loser."

"Heh, you know you love me." He shrugged.

"Yeah. Kinda'."

As Mariah's voice filled the cabin, and Julie and Connie belted out the chorus together, Adam lighting a cigarette as he fought the urge to join in.

 _Not turning in my Man Card THAT easily_.

...

For his part, Russ sat back against the creamy leather, getting comfortable as they made their way through Oak Hills Estates.

As he looked around, he couldn't help but notice how _clean_ everything was; how there were no booster seats to be found, nor any melted crayons or Doritos crumbs or abandoned Breck Hockey hoodies that smelled like Axe and sweat.

Used to the travails of fatherhood himself, he marveled: With just two kids, he struggled to remember what color his minivan's interior _was_ beneath all of the mystery stains. Yet somehow with three kids, Adam's SUV looked like he had never _seen_ a child.

.

"Dude. You have got to share your secret." He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure my kids are growing some new life forms in the back of the Odyssey."

"Don't be telling me that!" Kenny chuckled. "I like my Range Rover, and I don't want to think about what's going to happen to it once Lia's born."

"Crumbs. Crumbs as far as the eye can see. Everywhere the light touches, there are more crumbs."

"No. Don't be puttin' that on me, man."

"There's no vacuuming them, either. Cuz' kids are secretly made of paste. Shit sticks to everything. You get in your car, and you find melted Jolly Rangers in your seat. Don't even know how that happens..."

"Nah man. Tell me this isn't true, Adam. Tell me there's another way."

"Ain't no way around it, bro. Adam probably has like, a butler or something. Because otherwise, it's all crumbs."

"Nooo! Tell him, Adam. Tell him there's another way."

"Ain't no other way, man. At least not for us normal folks."

As Kenny and Russ continued to joke, the color drained from Adam's face.

.

Unlike some of the others _, that_ incident had stayed quiet; few outside of he and Laura knowing the truth.

Adam's fingers drummed at the steering wheel, his thoughts drifting back to the crumpled juice boxes and half-finished coloring sheets in the back of his old Lexus. To the times that he'd pick the boys up from Saturday morning hockey practice, and the trips through the Krispy Kreme drive-thru that they kept quiet from Laura. Kid detritus filled that car, right down to the CD changer that once got stuck on Jack Johnson's 'We're Going to be Friends' for the better part of a month...a reassuring message that was probably more pertinent for the driver than his young passengers, anyway.

.

When he got out of the hospital two weeks after the accident, he tried to go retrieve Caroline's stuffed walrus that had been in the back floorboard, but by then, it was too late.

A snowstorm had come along.

With the side of the car cut apart, there was nothing to stop snowdrifts from forming; burying everything underneath blankets of powder that had already melted and refrozen multiple times.

There would be no saving Horton.

.

"Heh, drive the Range Rover into a tree, and your kids probably won't be riding with you in the next car." He muttered, missing the matted grey walrus that used to occasionally keep him company at work.


	18. A Few Stories You Forgot to Mention

April 7, 2001

"So how's it feel to be the all-time winner of 'who can lay still the longest?"

"Like my plans for taking over the world are complete." Adam laughed, the gap where his teeth used to be revealing a dark abyss every time he opened his mouth.

His tongue was starting to hurt, the jagged edges scraping a groove every time he forgot that things were no longer where they should be.

It was a minor problem in the grand scheme of things, but still.

.

Julie, meanwhile, glanced around the room, gazing up at the 'Tri Delt Loves #99' banner hanging above his bed, signed by hundreds of sorority girls with loopy, perfect handwriting.

.

She had to give the mastermind of that project credit-maroon and yellow would have been the obvious choice, but this one was done in navy, with gold glitter accents.

His favorite colors.

.

Every inch of the room had been taken over with gifts from well-wishers, cards and flowers and balloons filling the flat surfaces. Other sororities too had created banners and signs and even a fleece throw blanket, all wishing him the best. She'd had to stifle a giggle when she noticed that one Chi Omega's get-well message promised him a blow job when he got out of the hospital, and another had jokingly drawn a set of breasts under her signature.

Adam was nothing if not well-loved.

.

"Heck yeah they are." She agreed, looking everywhere but at him. Everywhere _but_ the abyss where his teeth belonged, and the metal contraption holding his head in place, and the hands and shoulders that were supposed to be moving but weren't.

 _Why him?_

"See Dad?" He joked. "I knew I'd accomplish something one day."

"You're just accomplishing all the things, aren't you?"

"Damn right I am!" He smiled. "I hope to start growing moss next week."

"That'll be sexy."

"It'll be so sexy you'll want to come mow me."

"How are you feeling, anyway?" She asked, glancing over at one of the pewter picture frames Laura had brought in, complete with a photo of he and Scott at the lake, the water glistening behind them as the stood there in their matching polos.

"Like I wish I could scratch my nose."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Julie reached over, rubbing the side of his nose for him as he moaned with relief; this clearly bringing him more pleasure than she'd ever brought any man, clothed or not.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" He sighed, finally content.

"Meh, I kind of like you, too."

"Just kind of?"

"Just _barely_ kind of. Like, I don't like you much at all." She reminded him, brushing his bangs with her fingers.

"Well good. Because I think you're icky and you have cooties."

"I'm never scratching your nose for you again..."

"Fine. I take that back." He chuckled. "I love you more than anything in the world, and I'd do anything for you, just please scratch my nose for me again."

Julie shook her head.

"I think you're just using me for my nose scratching abilities."

"You got me."

...

"I'm sorry about crying yesterday." She added a few minutes later, now settled in next to him as she held his warm, calloused hand. "And for disappearing afterwards."

"Don't be. I'm sorry for upsetting you."

"You're apologizing for being in the hospital?" She laughed, giving his hand a squeeze.

 _I do believe I've found the world's biggest people-pleaser_...

"Well, you're the one apologizing for _crying_ about me being in the hospital, so clearly I started this with all of my awesome hockey-playing abilities."

"You're right. It's all your fault. Dork."

Adam laid there quietly for a moment, those final seconds replaying in his head.

.

It _was_ his fault.

It had been a clean hit. The Wisconsin player had done nothing wrong. He simply landed the wrong way-sixteen years of hockey, sixteen years of being told to keep his head up, sixteen years of being told to be aware around the boards, and this was one of those times where his body just didn't do what it was supposed to.

.

"I'm just saying. I think I was in a better position to prevent this than you were."

"Whatever.

Julie shook her head, her thumb stroking his as she thought about what he was saying.

"You know this isn't your fault, right?"

"Heh, I was too busy watching the puck."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Adam." She reminded him, leaning over to kiss the side of his cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong at all. Things just happen sometimes."

"I know. I'm just saying."

"You were perfect. You played an incredible game out there."

"My last one."

"Yeah. Probably."

For a moment, the room grew quiet, only the sound of nurses scurrying outside to break up the silence. Julie picked at her nail polish; a fleck of Laguna Blue sailing through the air and landing on Adam's bed sheet as he thought about those final seconds.

* * *

"Seriously dude?"

Russ stared down at the beige carpet, kicking himself for saying anything.

Suddenly, he felt thankful for the rainbow of melted crayon accenting his center console, and the orange coating of Goldfish crumbs that coated his daughter Olivia's booster seat.

 **.**

Minneapolis wasn't _that_ big-people talked.

He should have known.

Heck, he'd gone to U of M. He remembered when Adam totaled out his Porsche, and the time a month later when the police were called on him for standing outside the Tri Delta house, threatening to kill himself if Laura didn't come out and talk to him. He'd had a gun and everything.

Another time-a quieter time-he ran into Adam in the Wilson Library. His old friend was so thin he could barely recognize him; a pilled Lacoste sweater hanging off his frame.

Still, it never seemed congruous. Even that time in the library, even when it was all standing right in front of him, he didn't believe it. Adam might have looked horrible, and there might have been rumors swirling around campus, but he was still as polite as ever. The two spent ten minutes talking about Russ' family at home before going their separate ways. When they talked, Adam was fine. Smart. Dorky. He made a joke about how if _he_ lived South-Central, he'd join the Crips over the Bloods for the sake of the easier hand sign, but then re-considered when imagined Christmas decor without any red.

In other words, nothing had changed.

.

Besides, everyone knew that people like Adam had to stay perfect.

If _they_ weren't, what hope was there for everybody else?

Why _else_ would you leave your family, leave L.A.? Why _else_ would you trade in your culture; trade in your F.U.B.U. jeans and NWA CDs for Dockers and jokes about hump day with some guy named Brad in the next cubicle if there weren't some kind of panacea at the end of it all?

.

If the corner office and German SUV _didn't_ solve everything.

.

"Yeah."

"Shit. I'm uh, I'm sorry man."

"Heh, it's alright." Adam nodded, enough blood returning to his face that he could feel his earlobes burning. "I was alone, so I didn't hurt anybody but myself. And I'm fine...no lasting damage. At least, none that matters."

" _That_ sounds reassuring."

"Meh." Adam shrugged. "At this point, I'm pretty sure that when I die, they'll be able to recycle me into a full set of golf clubs. But the extra titanium in my femur serves as a good reminder about not acting like an idiot. And I probably had too many feet of intestines, anyway, so that's not a big deal."

"And you're...doing better now?"

"Much."

"Good. Glad to hear it...

.

Russ sighed as he thought of his own carpool duties, and teaching Gabby and Olivia about Tupac on their way to ballet.

.

Olivia was still more into The Jonas Brothers, but Gabby's favorite was _California Love,_ and it always surprised him how well she could rap along with it. For a light-skinned girl who lived in Minnetonka and had gone to Catholic school her whole life, she was _good-_ a fact that brought him more solace than he cared to admit.

.

"And uh, if you ever need anything, I'm here." He reminded his old friend, shuffling around in his seat as he tried not to think about how little use a guy like Adam would _have_ for the account manager at a place that sold produce to grocery stores. "I won't even invite myself over to your house. Even though it _does_ look like a pretty sweet house!"

Adam shook his head, a smile overtaking his eyes.

"You're welcome over anytime you'd like. I won't even make you play tea party with Caroline."

"Dude. I ain't missin' out on that shit." Russ pointed out. "You think just cuz' I'm black, I don't want to go to no tea party?"

"Fine." Adam laughed. "In that case, high tea is whenever she says it is, and the dress code may or may not include pearls and a tiara."

"Heck yeah! That's more like it."

"Seriously, dude." Adam paused, his voice thoughtful this time. "Come over any time. It gets lonely, and I'd really love to have the company."

* * *

April 7, 2001

"Oh my gosh, you are such a loser!"

"What? It's true!"

"Is not."

"Is too."

For the last 36 hours, the waiting room of Abbott Northwestern had turned into something of a preppy refugee camp, dozens of college kids left sitting around as the news continued to sink in. Even for those who had houses or apartments just down the road, it somehow seemed _wrong_ to go back to the world of hand-me-down couches and stolen beer signs, those things all now remnants of another time. Instead, they'd taken over the hospital sofas and vending machines, the floor now a maze of hoodies and Jansport backpacks.

Every so often, one gang of refugees would journey back to the Sigma Chi house, or the campus dining hall, or an off-campus apartment in search of food and shower, and another group would come to take their place.

Desperate for a break from the smell of hospital antiseptic and Polo Blue, Julie and Connie had decided that it was time for a pilgrimage to mecca. Along with Guy and some random stock broker that appeared to be a friend of Scott's, they'd all piled into the back of Scott's Lincoln Navigator, headed out in search of cheap liquor and distraction.

Now pleasantly inebriated and gorging themselves at the $6 Chinese buffet, 'distraction' featured heavily on the agenda.

"I am _not_ the secret ingredient in egg rolls!"

"You are the _Cat_ Lady..."

"Yeah, but do I look like I'm an egg roll?"

"I mean, maybe..."

"Dork."

"Loser."

"Why do they call them egg rolls, anyway?" Scott chimed in, snapped back to the conversation going on at the other end of the table.

.

He'd been staring at a bowl of sweet and sour sauce for the last half hour, oblivious to the world around him as reality sank in. As it sank in that Adam wasn't getting better. As it sank in that their mom hadn't been by the hospital. That she hadn't answered his calls at all. That even when he went by the house, nothing he said was registering; she'd just muttered something about how 'that's too bad' before returning to her nap.

Phil might not have been the best dad, but at least he was coherent enough to deal with situations as they arose.

Without him, everything was on Scott.

.

"Makes them sound like an omelette or some shit." He continued, trying to chase the other thoughts from his mind as the orange light from the 'Super Wonderful Amazing Chinese Buffet'-sign filtered in through the blinds.

His buddy shook his head.

"See bro, this is why you were supposed to pay attention in English."

"They didn't teach about egg rolls in English. Trust me. I would have paid attention to that shit."

"Yeah, but they talked about not sounding like a dumbass."

"Whatever. I was too busy banging your girlfriend."

"No shit man." His friend agreed, taking a bite of sesame chicken. "You could have scheduled that for _after_ English. Only difference between her and bicycle was that only one person could ride a bicycle at a time."

"I've never seen a bike with knockers like Jennifer's..."

 _God she had great tits._

 _I should have become a plastic surgeon or something. Those dudes get paid to be around tits all day. Way better than driving a damn forklift._

"Those were nice funbags."

"You two are disgusting."

"He's the one who said it." Scott pointed out, giving an innocent shrug as he scooted in closer to the table to adjust himself; the memories of Jennifer and her knockers a bit too much. "I respect all women, thank you very much."

"By banging them?"

"By banging them _respectfully_."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what Crystal and LaToya are saying."

Scott just shook his head.

"I can't really help it that Crystal looked at a seventh grader and said 'Yeah, I think he seems like real father material'. That shit was kind of on her..."

"Yeah. But then you did the same thing with her a year later."

"She wanted Cierra to have a brother or sister." Scott explained, his voice softer now as he stared back down at his plate of noodles.

.

All his life, he'd had trouble in school. The other kids always laughed when he'd have to read aloud, and on the ice, he was better at hitting people than shooting the puck. Still, before that, he wasn't really any different than any of his other schoolmates from the bottom-half of the class; no different than any other suburban disappointment.

Then he had two kids with Crystal by the middle of ninth grade.

After that, everybody pretty much agreed that the only things he was good for were fighting and fucking.

Still, even after everything, he couldn't say that he regretted Jasmine.

.

"I figured Adam and Susan were pretty legit. Might as well let Cierra have the same thing."

* * *

"Why do I feel like there are a few stories you've forgotten to tell me?" Julie asked, her head cocked to the side as she and Adam stood alone in the bread aisle.

.

Adam's conversation in the car hadn't been forgotten, and now that the group had split off, she took advantage of their newfound privacy.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, she chewed at the side of her lip, thinking of all of the known unknowns. Knowing that there was probably quite a bit of unpleasantness that had been kept silent; suffering that hadn't been discussed with anybody.

.

"Well, yeah..."

"A lot?"

"Yeah."

She looked up at him, staring into those familiar eyes that had been creased by age; an invisible weight pulling at them.

"Why don't you ever talk to me about any of this stuff?" She asked, recalling the years of half-secrets. The way that even back in high school, his stories would come to a halt mid-sentence before the topic changed; his way of redacting the uncomfortable parts.

"Because you probably wouldn't like me if you knew."

"Dork." She smiled, leaning into his shoulder. "I don't like you, anyway."

"Well good. Because I don't like you, either."

"I don't like you, more!"

"Solid choice." He agreed with a nod. "I don't like me more, too!"

"Whatever, loser." She put her arm around his waist, pulling herself in closer as they stood surrounded by bagels and loaves of sourdough. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Well, thank you."

"And also," She reminded him, playfully squeezing a bit of the fluff around his middle. "I think there's quite a bit about you to like."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a fat joke..."

Julie turned the color of the strawberry lemonade she was holding in her other hand; insulting him the last thing she'd meant to do.

"A compliment." She assured him. "You are very likable. And not fat."

Adam chuckled, pulling her in towards him the best that he could with his right arm. Julie didn't think much of it until looked over and realized that he had a baguette and orange juice in his left hand; her eyes lighting up when she put two and two together. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she took hold of his mostly-useless hand and entwined her fingers with his.

"I'd happily settle for one out of two on that one." He smiled. "But thank you."

"You're very welcome. Just...know that it's okay to talk about things, okay?"

"I know."

"And uh...don't forget how much people care about you. How much _I_ care about you." Julie added, squeezing his hand as she looked up into his eyes. "You may be a giant dork, but you still sort of matter to me."

"Has anyone told you you have horrible taste in friends?" Adam joked as he leaned over to kiss the top of her forehead.

"The worst."


	19. Superhero Capes

"I think you're a dork."

"Oh _really_?"

"Yeah."

"Jerk."

The banter in the bread aisle continued as shoppers passed by, Julie's head still rested against Adam's shoulder. Standing there beside him, she just couldn't bring herself to move from his embrace.

.

It was nice.

It was all nice.

The world was a better place with him in it. Her hands felt better when they were entwined with his.

.

For the last twenty years, her life, unlike his, had gone along according to plan. The boxes had been checked, and the dreams had been fulfilled, and the mistakes of her parents had been avoided. Even the things that had gone wrong had been of the regular variety-breakups where people said things they shouldn't, and jobs that were just jobs, and brothers who'd failed to live up to expectations.

As far as lives went, there wasn't much she could complain about.

.

But, there was an emptiness to it all.

People came, and they went, and colleagues moved to New York, and to Philadelphia, and to Chicago, and apartments were sold, and condos were purchased, and Ikea bookcases were discarded when they broke, and it seemed like nothing ever really lasted for long. She'd been in Boston for fifteen years, and yet everything still just felt like a layover for something else.

 _This_ , on the other hand?

This had lasted.

This was resilient, outliving the Flokati rug she bought with her first paycheck, or the Indian restaurant down the street from the hospital. This had survived all of the things that life had thrown at it; all of the tragedies that would have sounded unthinkable at 13.

And, despite it all, it was every bit as great as she remembered.

.

"Well, I think you're a dork, too."

"Oh you _do_ , do you?" Julie giggled, her thumb tracing the back of his hand as she remembered the awkward kid from the Junior Goodwill Games, and the self-assured prom king, and the investment banker being wheeled out of the courthouse in handcuffs, and all of the things in between.

"Well of course. You'd have to be pretty dorky to be hanging out with a guy like me."

"Nah. You're just my community service project."

"What did you ever do to deserve such a fate..." He laughed, holding her close.

"Clearly, something very _very_ bad."

"So bad!"

* * *

April 9, 2001

"Are you going to be okay?"

She sat in the chair next to Adam's bed, her hand squeezing his. Rubbing her thumb along the inside of his palm, she tried to commit every inch to memory; her mind building a map of the callouses and chewed fingernail nubs and the way that his right pinkie curved in a few degrees, no doubt the result of some long-ago injury that he'd never quite allowed to heal.

 **.**

She didn't want to lose that version of him.

 **.**

She never wanted to forget what it felt like to hold hands in the front seat of his Porsche; the wind blowing their hair as they drove through the city. She never wanted to forget the hugs where he'd pick her up and swing her around, of the feeling of his abs through a cashmere sweater, or the ridiculous goals he'd score every game.

It scared her to think that those memories might one day fade. That one day she might just see a guy in a wheelchair; an attendant cutting his food and wiping his face for him.

 **.**

"Of course." He assured her.

"I'm going to be thinking of you. And missing you."

"You're _not_ allowed to miss me." He laughed, looking into those beautiful green eyes.

"I'm not?"

"Of course not. That would be a dumb use of time."

"Oh _really_?" She giggled, leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek. "And what would you suggest I do instead?"

"Go places! Play hockey! Have sex! Do all of the interesting things I don't get to do."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He smiled, his eyes as twinkly and clear as ever. "I was never big on any of those things, anyway. Except maybe sex...I did like that pretty well."

"Yeah. You were always pretty good at that."

"The best compliment a guy can hear..."

"You were."

"Thanks."

The two grew quiet for a moment, Julie still taking in every last bit of the Adam she knew. She inventoried those broad shoulders, and the way that his hair still looked good after having metal rods drilled into his skull, and the faded scar along his cheek. She combed her memories for the curve of his hockey butt, and the way they danced together on prom night.

"Really, I feel bad to just leave."

"Heh, I think New Hampshire will be more fun than I am."

"And what about you?" She asked, her brows furrowed with concern.

"Well, I'm not exactly going anywhere..."

"That's not what I meant."

"I think you worry too much. After all, don't you remember that I'm invincible?"

"Clearly."

"I _am_. Have I not made it this far?"

"Good point." She smiled, burying her face in his chest as she did her best to give him a proper hug.

* * *

"We probably need to go find everybody else." Adam noted, glancing down at his watch.

.

Forty five minutes, and all they'd done was grab one baguette and one bag of bagels.

.

"We're _such_ efficient shoppers."

"We really are."

Julie grabbed an extra baguette and a bag of bagels, hoping that nobody would notice their penchant for distraction.

* * *

April 9, 2001

"You'll keep me updated if anything changes, right?"

After what seemed like forever in Minneapolis-after three nights of curling up with Connie in her childhood bedroom as a stuffed animal hammock hung over the bed and a faded Boys II Men poster watched over them-it was time to return to New Hampshire. Time to return to the usual routine of schoolwork and training and hanging out with friends; of being 1,000 miles from everything happening back in Minnesota.

For _her_ , life would soon be normal again.

"Of course."

"And if there's anything I can do for him, you'll let me know?" She asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

"You'll be the first person I call."

"Thank you. For everything."

* * *

"Are you sure that's enough champagne?" Connie asked, looking down at the shopping cart intently.

Having reunited near the checkout line, Connie assessed the situation, noting that despite an abundance of food, Russ had only picked up four bottles of champagne. A bit more sober than she wanted to be, she couldn't help but think this seemed like quite the oversight.

"We're having _pre-brunch_. How much champagne could we need?"

Adam shrugged, sharing Connie's concerns about the alcohol situation.

"Like, at least a bottle or two a person?"

"It's 10 AM..."

"Yeah?"

"I feel like your liver deserves hazard pay."

"I feel like all of me deserves hazard pay." He agreed. "My liver definitely deserves a bonus, though-I'm pretty sure that's the one thing that still works."

"Okay." Russ shook his head. "So how much more champagne do we need according to people who _aren't_ alcoholics?"

"Hey now!"

"Like, two more bottles?" Julie suggested. "Five if we're taking into account our Bad Idea Duo here."

Adam and Connie exchanged conspiring glances; this definitely the one thing their lives had in common.

"Bad Idea Duo unite!" Adam announced, raising his fist into the air as Julie buried her face in her hands, questioning what she had done

"As co-president of the Bad Idea Duo, I motion that five more bottles is _definitely_ needed." Connie agreed.

"Motion seconded."

Connie grew thoughtful for a moment, her eyes widening as she spied the aisle of impulse buys a few feet away.

"I think if we're going to be the Bad Idea Duo, we need like, magic rings that clink together!" She pointed out. "And capes! Yeah...magic rings and capes."

Adam grabbed a bag of Ring Pops from the checkout line, holding them up proudly.

.

Things like meaningful employment or the ability to use a fork and knife at the same time might have proven to be beyond his purview, but _this_?

 _This_ he had handled.

.

"I have beach towel capes in the car! The Bad Idea Duo is official now."

"Yes! Our plans for domination are complete!"

* * *

April 9, 2001

"Do either of you need anything?"

Julie stared down at a stain on the Subaru's floor mat, a Jimmy Buffet song playing over the stereo. As they rode through the city, she picked at a loose thread on her sweatshirt, the hem slowly coming undone.

 **.**

Though Connie had been the one to pick her up from the airport, the ride back was one of convenience: Reid Larson's flight back to Virginia was leaving within a few minutes of hers. As such, she caught a ride to the airport with Dr. and Mrs. Larson, Mrs. Larson still as eternally "helpful" as she remembered.

"Nah, we're good."

"Julie?"

"I'm fine." She assured Mrs. Larson. "Thank you, though."

"Are you both sure? I don't want you two getting hungry. We can go by McDonald's."

"I'm fine."

"What about Burger King?" She asked. "I know _you_ like Burger King, Reid. What about you, Julie? We can get whatever you'd like."

"I'm not hungry."

"Me neither."

"I think there's an Arby's around here somewhere..."

"No."

"Well, you're both getting to the airport a little bit early." She reminded them. "It might be a good idea to have something with you for later. I don't want either of you to get hungry.

 _Jesus effing Christ_.

"Oh, look, there's a Taco Bell up ahead. We could go to Taco Bell. You could maybe get a quesadilla for later."

"I don't want to go to fucking Taco Bell."

"Now Reid..."

" _What_?"

Julie sat back against the velour, watching the Minneapolis skyline unfold as Reid and his mother bickered back and forth about the need for lunch.

"I was just being helpful. I don't know why you always have to get such an attitude-"

"You're not being helpful. You're trying to live my life for me."

"Well maybe if you'd do a better job of that..."

"Whatever. Go help the son you _wish_ you had."

"Now you know that's not true..."

"Yeah. Whatever you say."

"I can't help it that you haven't taken advantage of the opportunities life has given you."

"Uh huh..."

By the time they approached their exit, Reid was shouting at her to go fuck herself, and Mrs. Larson was in tears, reminding him that she'd paid for fourteen years of private school, thank you very much, and that as such, he should be more grateful to have a mom who cares about his friends and his future and whether or not he starves to death, because some parents who shall remain nameless don't care at all about those things.

.

Dr. Larson, for his part, just turned up the stereo.

* * *

"Why do you get the sea turtle cape?"

Adam and Connie's 'Bad Idea Duo' checked out with their Ring Pops and champagne; the two would-be superheroes now standing in the Meijer parking lot, negotiating the most important piece of their plan: Magic capes.

A trio of beach towels were spread out across the back of the SUV; chlorine-smelling remnants of a trip to the country club pool a few weeks earlier.

Adam stood proudly, a sea turtle beach towel draped over his shoulders and a cherry Ring Pop gracing his index finger. A morning breeze blew through his hair and picked up the end of his cape, giving further credence to disheveled superhero persona.

"Because it's _my_ towel."

"Didn't your parents ever teach you to share?" Connie pouted, eyeing his cape/beach towel with jealousy.

.

There were two other towels to pick from, of course, but sailboats and cabana stripes just didn't compare.

Not to a tie-dyed sea turtle.

.

"Did you ever _meet_ my parents?"

"Okay. fine." Connie laughed. "Didn't you ever like, flip through the channels and accidentally land on something about sharing? Because I really feel like Mr. Rogers tried to cover that one a time or two."

"Well yeah, probably." He agreed. "But my dad was too busy yelling at Scott for me to hear any of it."

"Good point."

Connie reached over and tried on the towel with the rainbow sailboats, pink and orange and lime stripes accenting the sails.

.

It was perfectly nice. She couldn't deny that the Bankses had good taste, even in things like beach towels. But still, those options just couldn't compare to sea turtles. Pouting, she removed it from her shoulders...a move that made Adam take notice.

.

"Heh, well, I guess I can't talk to my kids about sharing unless I'm willing to be a good example." He smiled, removing his beloved sea turtle cape and placing it over her back. Smoothing it over her twinset, he shook his head.

"I hereby bequeath you my Super Extra Magical Sea Turtle Cape. May it bless you with all of the powers of horrible decision making."

"I'm honored, oh Great Horrible Decision Maker." Connie giggled, wrapping him in an excited hug. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome! I'm trusting you to live up to my standards of idiocy."

"I'll do my very best to honor your moronic legacy."

.

So many years.

So many years of his hypocritical preppy bullshit, and attitudes that somehow made _Scott_ look evolved, and more arguments than she could count over whatever stupid thing they'd found to argue over that month, and it all still worked.

She still somehow considered him one of her closest friends.

.

"That's all I ask."

A few feet away, Kenny shook his head.

"This. This is why colleges have to have affirmative action for white people now."

"Are you making fun of the Bad Idea Duo?" Connie asked, her head cocked innocently to the side.

"Me? Make fun of an illustrious institution like that? Never!"

"That's what I thought."

"We have an extra cape..." Adam reminded him, his eyes twinkling.

"I just don't think I could live up the standards you two have set."

"What? You're good with being an honorary Bash Bro, but life-ruining stupidity is a bridge too far? Come on, man!"

* * *

April 9, 2001

"I'm glad I get to go back to Virginia."

Larson stared quietly down at his boat shoes, self-conscious about both the things he was thinking and the scene Julie had watched in the car earlier; fights with his parents hardly the sort of thing he'd intended for public consumption.

"Same."

"I feel like such an asshole to admit that..." He continued, not really sure where the statement would go.

Where it _could_ go.

.

Other travelers passed by, hurried men in their business suits and families dressed for vacation; kids already donning their Mickey Mouse ears and pint-sized fanny packs. He'd never dreamed that going back to an all-boys school could seem like such a relief. That he could be looking forward to classes in accounting and dealing with a bunch of pricks in Range Rovers; to a world that had more to do with his dad's glory days than anything he'd ever wanted for himself.

But compared to the vortex of obligation swirling back in Minnesota, Hampden-Sydney meant freedom.

It meant that his life wouldn't have to be defined by someone else's tragedy; that unlike Scott and likely Laura, he would be free to go back his normal life, and nobody would judge him for sitting around and playing video games in his underwear all day, surrounded by a pile of empty Miller Light cans.

Or at least, nobody would judge him for more harshly than they'd _normally_ judge such pastimes.

.

"I know. Same."

"This fucking sucks."

"Yeah. It does."


	20. To Be 19

"We're baaack!" Connie announced, a bottle of champagne in each hand.

Portman looked back and forth between her and Adam, raising a curious eyebrow at the Ring Pop rings and beach towels tied around their shoulders. Not moving from his spot on the sofa, he shook his head.

"Is there a reason that you two look like you escaped from the short bus, or is that just the new thing?"

"We're the _Bad Idea Duo_ , thank you very much." Connie laughed, setting her shopping bags down on the counter.

"Fitting."

"Jerk."

"It's an extremely selective organization." Adam informed him, working his hardest to keep a straight face. "There are only two members in the entire world."

"No shit." Portman shrugged. "It's a duo. If there were more, it wouldn't be a duo anymore."

 _And...now that fucker is smarter than I am._

 _CTE._

 _It's hitting closer to home every day._

"Well, it's a duo for now."

"Okay."

"I mean, technically speaking, I have one more beach towel in my car..." Adam continued, smiling.

.

Portman sat back, laughing at the very absurdity of Adam being nice to him.

.

Twenty three years, and the closest Adam had ever come to including him in _anything_ was one time junior year, when Crawford made a joke about Lauren Bauer being a slut. Portman had gotten to make a joke about hotdogs and hallways, which made all of the boys in the nice polo shirts laugh. Even Adam laughed, which seemed ironic coming from a guy who insisted that anything other than missionary with the lights out was for homos.

Not that Portman had heard about those things from anyone on the team, of course...

.

"I'm good. I'll leave that duo to you two special kids."

"Are you _sure_? We wouldn't mind adding some muscle to this dream team."

"Why couldn't you have been this nice to me a couple decades ago?"

Adam cocked his head to the side, confused.

"I...was always nice to you. Right?"

"Yeah." Portman shrugged. "Something like that."

"What? I mean, I was, wasn't I?"

"Heh, let's just say that I don't think it's a coincidence you married some chick who left _Winnetka_ for boarding school."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

.

 _Portman_ was the one who was a jerk.

Not him. Everybody agreed he was nice. The people at work. His neighbors. The other people in the skybox at Minnesota games. His brother.

He held doors and sent out Christmas newsletters and had good table manners...or at least, he had good table manners back when he could still use a fork and knife at the same time.

Now he had good table manners by the standards of a toddler with cerebral palsy **.**

.

"Nothin'."

" _What_?"

"I'm just sayin'. You're a rich kid. You do rich kid shit. You hang out with other people who do rich kid shit."

"I'm sorry."

"It's cool." Portman laughed. "You're still a fag, though."

"And you still look like Helen Keller dressed you during her Slayer phase."

"Can a deaf person go through a Metal phase?" Portman asked, now pondering this important question for himself.

 _I mean, I guess the vibrations ARE pretty sweet..._

"I don't know." Adam shrugged. "I have a bunch of like, Patagonia and Arc'tryx in my closet, and I'm sure as hell not going to be climbing any mountains."

'Good point. I'd watch the shit out of you trying, though."

"I'd watch the shit out of me trying to climb the _stairs._ "

"Nah. That'd just be sad." Portman pointed out, doing his best to shake away the hint of schadenfreude that suggested such a thing _would_ actually be pretty good entertainment. "But a mountain? That'd be so sad it's hilarious."

 _Heh. Guess I see why HR got onto me last week._

 _Maybe that next sensitivity training video will stick._

* * *

April, 2001

Walking back into her dorm room, it seemed to Julie as if time back in New Hampshire had stopped. Like everything had been in suspended animation for four days, simply awaiting her return.

A pair of sweatpants lay crumpled on the floor, just as she'd left them when she got dressed to head to the airport. Beside them, a pair of sneakers, and beside those, a copy of Cosmo, still flipped open to '78 Sizzling Sex Tips'...at least 46 of which had sounded like exceptionally bad ideas when she last read them.

Nothing had changed.

The world was still exactly as she'd left it.

"How's he doing?" Ashley asked, barely looking up from her Art History assignment.

Julie shrugged.

That too was exactly as she'd left it.

Sadly.

"They weren't kidding. He's definitely a quadriplegic."

"For real?"

Ashley set her book to the side, somehow surprised at this news.

It wasn't like she knew him or anything, but still.

"Yeah."

"Crap. I'm sorry."

Unsure of what else could really be said, Julie began to tidy up the mess she'd left in her haste, folding her sweatpants and sorting through her duffel to see what should be laundered. As she went to her closet to fetch a hanger, she went ahead and grabbed her purse as well, looking down at her cellphone.

1 New Voicemail

 _"Hey. This is Adam._ " The familiar voice began, still a bit weak from everything that had happened. " _I had one of the nurses dial your number for me. Anyway, I just wanted to call and make sure that you made it back alright. It was really nice to see you-I felt bad that you had to fly out here on short notice and everything, but it really meant a lot. Anyway, thank you again for everything, and I hope that I didn't disrupt too many of your plans for the week. When you get a chance, you might let me know you made it back okay. Or not. I know that you're busy. Just know that I really appreciated everything._ "

Placing a t-shirt on a hanger, Julie just shook her head and smiled.

 _Only he could make this sound like such a non-event._

* * *

"So are we actually like, wanting to do anything today?" Charlie asked, by now awake and fully dressed.

.

The once empty kitchen had been taken over, bottles of champagne and pastries and bagels all spread across the countertop. Looking out at the buffet, he couldn't help but marvel-he was pretty sure the last time he'd _seen_ that much food in his house was when he and Shannon married in the backyard three years earlier.

.

"I don't know."

Goldberg eyed the spread, similarly impressed.

"Do you all think you picked up enough food?"

"You can't have people starving to death during pre-brunch." Connie pointed out.

"I hear that's a leading cause of death in Minnesota."

"It very much is." Adam agreed solemnly, still dressed in his sailboat cape. "I've heard they're going to start filming those Feed the Children ads here any day now."

Julie shook her head, picturing the rows of two-acre lots and 7,000 sq. ft. colonials back in his neighborhood.

" _Please_ tell me they're going to be using your street for the shooting location."

"Well duh. They're going to feature Mrs. Olmstead next door, and her 400 lb. husband. That way, they can solicit money on two fronts: Food for needy trophy wives, _and_ women's education, so that no other girl ever has to marry a guy who looks like Mr. Olmstead."

"Now _that's_ an important cause." Julie laughed, taking a bite of her bagel.

"It really is." He nodded. "I mean, ever since having Caroline, stuff like that suddenly seems _way_ more important."

Julie and Connie both shook their heads, Julie in particular wishing she had a hockey stick nearby to beat him with.

.

For all of his good qualities, she was pretty sure that a few of his attitudes towards women could have been better left in the 1950's.

.

"Women's education only matters because of Caroline?"

Adam shrugged, reaching over for a muffin as he thought about the fact that he'd gotten to see his daughter a grand total of four times in her first three years of life.

"I mean, before, I figured it took a lot of drunk dads missing a lot of dance recitals to make a Mrs. Olmstead. But now that I _have_ missed a lot of dance recitals, the whole thing seems like, 1000% less funny."

"Such sensitivity..."

"Hey now!" He laughed, fighting the urge to wrap his arm around Julie's waist and start snuggling her right then and there. "I like to think that I'm _very_ civilized. I don't even drag wooly mammoths through the nice parts of the cave anymore."

"I'm sure Laura's _very_ appreciative of that."

"Oh she is. She _is_. She barely ever threatens to roast me over the fire anymore."

"That's just because she figures a mastodon will eat you soon."

"Considering my ability to run?" He nodded. "That's a pretty safe bet."

* * *

May 15, 2001

"So, how's it going on your end?" Julie asked, pacing the halls of her dorm as she tried not to think about how incongruous this all was.

Trying not to think about the fact that she had seriously called someone at _spinal rehab_ to complain about roommate drama.

 _Maybe next time I can go down to the homeless shelter to complain about prices at the Clinique counter_.

"Well," Adam laughed, lying in bed with her on speakerphone as he stared up at the ceiling tiles. "I'm really getting the hang of this whole 'eating with utensils' thing, so yeah, things are going pretty great here."

"Seriously?"

Her eyes widened at the news.

.

She'd heard that he was improving; that he'd regained some feeling in his hands and arms, and that he could control the motorized wheelchair with his wrist.

Still, _this_ was progress.

Glamorous or not, being able to feed oneself was big. Being able to decide how much to eat, or whether to get another drink of water, or how much ketchup to put on fries meant a break from attendants. It meant privacy, and going out with friends, and eating at restaurants without too many stares.

It meant that maybe, just maybe, he'd get to be _Adam Banks_ again someday...at least in some form.

 _"Of course, he's already him."_ She scolded herself.

 _He's always been him_. _That doesn't change with what he can or can't do._

.

"Yeah."

"That's awesome! I'm so proud of you!"

At the other end of the line, Adam chuckled.

"Heh, clearly I should have paralyzed myself a long time ago. Nobody ever used to get this excited over forks."

"Think of it as one of the perks."

"No kidding!" He agreed, studying a discolored segment of tile that he'd decided either looked like a rabbit pouring a tea kettle or a dragon sitting on the toilet, depending on his mood. "I spent my whole life getting yelled at over _only_ scoring two goals a game, and now everyone congratulates me for spilling macaroni on myself? I'm thinking this was one of my better decisions..."

"To be fair, you were always pretty good at spilling macaroni..."

"Well, yeah. But nobody used to congratulate me on it!"

"Touche." Julie agreed. "It was definitely one of your more under-appreciated talents."

"I know, right? I think everybody deserves praise for ending up covered in scalding cheese. Not just paralyzed people."

"I think that might be your calling in life."

"To raise awareness of how _everybody_ deserves praise for ending up covered in cheese?"

"Exactly!"

.

Strolling the cinderblock halls, she thought about how much fun he was to talk to.

About how even with everything that was going on in his own life, he could _still_ find ways to make her feel better.

.

He was still the same smart, funny, self-deprecating guy he'd always been.

He was still as determined as ever.

All of the things that mattered-the things that ran a lot deeper and meant a lot more than his ability to dominate on the ice; the things that the newspaper articles never talked about, but were the reasons she loved him- _those_ things hadn't changed.

She thought back to the picture of them on her bulletin board, getting ready to sled down a snow-covered hill on a tray stolen from the cafeteria, and his smile as he wrapped his arms around her.

And she couldn't help but think about how even with all of the limitations he was going to have now, she still _missed_ him.

And not just as a friend.

" _Quit being a dumbass_." She reminded herself, trying to chase those thoughts from her mind.

.

After all, a quadriplegic certainly wasn't compatible with her dreams.

.

"So. Other than Ashley sexiling you, how's everything going?"

"I mean, other than that, it's fine." She assured him. "But I'm never going to be able to un-see that. Every time I go into our room now, I'm going to think about his back hair. It's like the hair left his head so it could move south for the winter..."

.

Thinking about his own family tree and the amount of hair he'd found in his brush that morning, Adam shuddered at the thought.

 _Women don't know how lucky they are_.

"Just be glad your hair will never betray you like that."

"It was _so_ gross."

"You're speaking to like, every male fear I have here."

"Whatever. Your hair is amazing."

"For _now_." He reminded her. "Half of the men in my family keep their hair for forever, and get to hang out in the nursing home looking like octogenarian game show hosts. The other half end up like Scott."

"In Scott's case, I'm pretty sure that's just the universe trying to prevent overpopulation. Every year he spent with hair added like, twenty people to the population."

"Well yeah." He agreed. "But he's still doing that. The median quality has just decreased."

* * *

"Aren't mimosas supposed to be orange?"

Adam and Connie stood around the kitchen in their beach towel capes, the drinks in their champagne glasses suspiciously lacking in color.

As Russ thought back to their conversations in the car, he couldn't help but think that if _anybody's_ drinks should be heavier on the orange juice, it should probably be Adam's and Connie's; the patterns of substance abuse the one thing clearer than their supposed mimosas.

Adam, meanwhile, held his drink up to the light and eyed it carefully before shrugging.

"Heh, it's sort of orange-ish."

"It's see-through."

" _Orange tinted_ see-through. Which means it's healthy. Sort of like a salad or something."

Julie shook her head.

" _So_ healthy."

"It is." Connie reminded her. "Healthier than a regular salad, really. Because I mean, regular salads are full of fattening dressing and stuff, but this is fat free. It's just like, all fruit."

Adam nodded in agreement as the group began migrating to the living room, the majority of the Ducks already in there discussing something else.

"How have you two ever survived this long?"

Adam looked down at his drink, growing quiet for a moment. He knew that Julie was kidding, but that she also probably... _wasn't_.

"I honestly have no idea."

"Well, I'm glad you have. I kind of like you. Sometimes."

"I'll take that." He smiled, setting his drink down on the counter.

* * *

August 9, 2001

"You'll be such a pimp."

Julie looked down at the storage tubs and duffle bags by her closet, already half-packed for the upcoming school year; filled with gym clothes and sneakers and tight little dresses for wearing out to parties. She looked at the hockey stick leaning against her wall, and the goalie pads nearby. She felt acutely aware of the fact that she would get to _be 19_. Of the fact that she'd get to be free from her parents in another week; that she'd get to drink too much, and wear dresses that showed too much skin, and dance with cute guys who'd spent the summers backpacking through Europe.

As the breeze floated in through her bedroom window, she could taste the freedom New Hampshire would bring. The thrill of possibility that exists only when you're old enough to do what you want, but young enough that life's doors haven't begun to close.

And she also felt tremendously guilty, because she knew that for the boy at the other end of the phone line, none of that would be happening.

He would be preparing for a very _different_ kind of year.

.

"I know, right?" Adam chuckled. "I mean, what's cooler than like, Stephen Hawking, but _dumb_?"

"Pretty sure you're not dumb. Also, you're way cuter."

"I don't know." He reminded her. "He's got that like, 'tard face thing going on, and it kind of works."

"Well don't worry. You can be a pretty big 'tard when you put your mind to it."

Sitting back at his apartment in Minnesota, Adam just shook his head.

.

He didn't want to go back to school.

Not like this.

He wanted to be handsome and interesting and _capable_ again. He wanted to dominate on the ice, and pick pretty girls up in his arms...or at least to be able to put on his own pants.

He wanted to be the guy Julie and Laura had fallen in love with.

.

"I honestly don't even have to try at all. It all just comes naturally."

"Well, you're easily the best 'tard I know."

"Yes! Such an honor..." He laughed, trying to shake away his dread.


	21. Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

Sounds of laughter wafted in from the living room as Charlie unloaded the remainder of the grocery store spread. Putting up perishables and arranging muffins on plates, Adam noticed the way that Charlie was favoring his left hand...hardly a mystery considering the throbbing in the back of his own head.

"How's your hand feeling?" He asked, the two now standing alone in the kitchen.

As Adam spoke, he stared over at the stained countertop; a permanent pink outline of a cup coloring one corner of Formica.

.

His own lip had healed nicely in the night, but that didn't change the pounding in his skull.

.

"Let's just say I think you won that one."

"I don't know." Adam laughed, looking back down at his clear mimosa. "I think you and the concrete double-teamed me on that one."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"You alright?"

"Of course." He smiled, adding a bit more orange juice to his drink as he thought about Julie's comments. "But you definitely left me with an impressive knot on the back of my head."

"That makes me feel oddly better..."

"You're welcome to feel it.

Adam tilted his head down for Charlie to feel; a few sprigs of hair still growing in the wrong direction twenty-three years after his accidental journey down the stairs.

"You and the concrete made a solid team. You should be proud."

"Cake eater."

.

Unable to resist this chance at admiring his own handiwork, Charlie reached over.

Sure enough, an inch or two above Phil's craftsmanship from so many years before, Charlie could feel the solid lump.

He was thankful that he hadn't seriously injured his friend, of course, but he smiled when he realized that they were suffering in the same boat. That rearranging the bones of his own hand hadn't been in vain.

.

He also thought back to all of those years at Eden Hall; to that first year at Minnesota before Adam got hurt.

There had always been tensions.

But Adam had also been a hell of a friend and teammate.

.

Without Adam's work ethic, none of those national championships would have been possible. There wouldn't have been any scholarships to powerhouses like U of Minnesota. Eden Hall wouldn't have hired him if he hadn't played during the era he did; if he _hadn't_ been there during Adam's reign.

And, when Adam wasn't hanging out with Crawford or Thad or Larson, there were lots of good times.

As the thoughts played through his head, he wanted to say something, but no words seemed quite right. Instead, they just lingered there for a second or two too long as conversation drifted in from the other room.

.

"I'm-I really am sorry." Adam finally offered after a moment. "I shouldn't have said any of the things I said last night."

"I shouldn't have, either."

"It's cool." Adam shrugged. "The things you said were all true. They hurt, but they were true."

"Maybe." Charlie agreed, taking another drink of his own mimosa. "But I also left a lot out. You've been through a lot-probably more than I know, and you're still a good person.

"A better person than I could be in that situation."

"Nah."

"Yeah. You are."

"I should have done a lot of things differently."

"Probably.

Charlie grew quiet again, staring down at the floor as he thought not just about the obvious, but at the things that had never been said.

Never talked about.

.

He'd started at Eden Hall right after college; an assistant coach to Orion's JV.

After sixteen years, he'd heard enough whispers to understand that their hockey program had its fair share of ghosts.

People at Eden Hall never mentioned names, and he would have never asked, but as he thought about timelines, certain things started to make more sense. Remembering some of Adam's oddities; things that he'd laughed off at the time, he realized that Adam was probably very familiar with some of those ghosts; that his pain ran deeper than anything was designed to treat.

Adam's losses had begun well before he broke his neck.

.

"You're...you're a good dude. I love you."

Adam just laughed, unsure of how to handle this sudden moment of intimacy between the two of them.

Reaching over, he gave Charlie a hug.

"You are such a queer." He reminded his friend, smiling.

"Not as big of one as you."

"Fag."

* * *

August 28, 2001

"He was like, your dad's age."

"Was not!"

"Was too."

Over the summer, Ashley and her latest way-too-old suitor had broken up, leaving her and Julie to dissect the situation in the living room of Ashley's apartment.

With school back in session for the year, the two lounged across a floral sofa handed down from Mrs. Handretti, splitting a bowl of popcorn as they discussed what went wrong.

"My dad's like, 65." Ashley reminded her.

"Okay, fine." Julie conceded. "He was old enough to be your dad in any place _other_ than Connecticut."

"Whatever. He was young at heart."

"No. No he wasn't. He was on cholesterol medication...he was quite literally old at heart."

"Not _that_ way." Ashley laughed. "Besides. I'm not sure you're one to talk."

" _What?_ "

"Umm...Alexandre? Alejandro? Graeme?" She reminded her former roommate. "At this point, I'm starting to think Preppy Stephen Hawking _is_ your best bet."

.

Julie grew silent, staring down at the throw pillow in her lap. She picked at a loose thread, wrapping the loose string around the tip of her finger as she thought about what Ashley said.

She knew Ashley hadn't _meant_ anything by it; that she'd just been kidding around. But still, it hurt to hear anyone refer to Adam that way.

"Don't say that."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"How's he doing, anyway?"

.

"Better. He's back at school now."

"That's good."

"But yeah." Ashley laughed. "I don't think your dating record is any better than mine."

"What. Ever. Alejandro was great other than his tendency to share his love with every other girl in New Hampshire."

"Uh huh. Yeah." Ashley nodded. "When a foreign man-whore with no major is the _good_ one, that's not exactly an accomplishment."

"At least he wasn't old enough to remember Woodstock."

"At least Dennis didn't accidentally set a building on fire."

"Okay, yeah. Graeme was definitely a mistake." Julie agreed, laughing.

 _"_ They were _all_ mistakes."

"Yeah."

* * *

"So how is tech-bro land?" Fulton asked, Charlie and Adam now back in the living room with the rest of the group as everybody caught up on the remaining odds and ends of one another's lives.

.

When Adam returned, Averman had politely given him his spot on the sofa, despite protests that doing so was unnecessary.

However, now that he was sitting on the floor beside Goldberg and Ken, he couldn't help but notice that the social pecking order of high school was perfectly re-created in terms of their seating arrangements.

.

Up on the sofa and loveseat sat the very people who'd dominated the headlines so many years earlier; Charlie still taking up a disproportionate amount of space as he sprawled across his end of the sofa, and Adam still sitting at the other end, with Julie in his lap and a drink in his hand; an uncomfortable emperor counting the moments until he could be alone again.

Just as it had always been in the later years at Eden Hall.

 _That probably should have been a sign, now that I think about it_...

.

"Definitely bro-ier than it used to be. My nerds have all been replaced."

"That sucks."

"It really does. I'm one of the older guys in the room now, and I'm usually the only one who's had much experience being shoved in lockers."

"Even tech has become too cool for you..." Russ laughed, the absurdity not lost on anybody.

.

Having moved out to California after college, Averman had indeed been one of the more successful Ducks.

He also had amongst the least to show for it; Palo Alto's cost of living swallowing everything he earned.

.

"Such is the tragedy of nerd-dom."

"It's not easy being a dork."

"So how about you?" Averman asked, looking back at the quieter of the two Bash Brothers. "Making a difference in the lives of middle schoolers?"

"I _really_ underestimated how dumb 12 year olds can be."

Charlie laughed, happy that the conversation had shifted to something he knew about.

"No kidding!" He chimed in; his well-meaning tendency to monopolize conversations one thing that had remained unchanged.

 _Please tell me I was never that ridiculous as a teenager_...

"Okay, so that begs the question for all of us. Which is worse: _Poor_ 12 year olds, or rich prep school kids?"

As Connie looked back and forth between the two of them, Charlie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought about an alumni board that was forever on his case, and a bunch of hockey dads who were all convinced that their kid was the next Gretzky.

"It's not the kids who are the problem." He began. "It's the competing expectations.

"I can put together a winning team. I can do what's best for the kids. Or I can make a bunch of rich alumni happy. But it's probably going to be one of three. _Maybe_ two if I'm really lucky."

"Still a bunch of Tom Rileys?"

"Still a bunch of Tom Rileys mixed in with Banksie's dad.

"I have a whole new respect for Orion and his GPA requirements, because at this point, if it'll win me the game and keep an angry hockey dad off my back, I'm begging teachers to pass kids. I'd write their history reports for them if I thought I could get away with it. I'm like, half a step away from Wilson's approach of 'if you can spell your name, you can play'."

Adam chuckled, thinking back to a few of the dumber players on the team; every season featuring at least one guy who'd never possess the mental acuity to work at Burger King.

"I don't really think he enforced that standard. _No way_ Hunter could spell his own name."

"Well yeah." Averman pointed out. "I don't think that one should even count. Hunter Michael Bodencratz? That was obviously a bridge too far. There were all sorts of complicated letters in there.

"Now Cole's parents knew what they were doing. Cole Jones? Even Cole couldn't mess that one up."

"It was solid planning on their end." Adam agreed solemnly. "They took a risk with the silent 'E', but unless they wanted to change their last name, he was going to have to learn that one, anyway."

* * *

September 10, 2001

Passengers milled by; dozens of men in navy and charcoal suits barking orders into their cell phones. They'd walk in packs of two or three, each trying to assert their dominance over the other Charcoal Suit Guys around them. The occasional vacationer would cut between packs, but on this day, Logan International belonged to the business travelers; talks of mergers and 2 PM meetings filling the air.

.

One of the few exceptions to this was a certain Ivy League hockey player, squealing some big news of her own into a cell phone.

.

"I made the team!" Julie announced, her cheeks still flushed with excitement.

.

Nothing was _official_ yet, but the final Team USA training camp prior to Olympic preparations had finished, and she was the starting goalie.

The writing was on the wall: She'd be going to Salt Lake City.

Her heart raced with excitement as she stood at the gate of the airport, the reality still sinking in.

.

Dartmouth hockey might have been underwhelming, but she'd be getting one last shot at athletic glory before life moved on.

One last chance to wear the red, white, and blue. One last chance to hear the crowds cheer, and play in a game with more than 10 spectators.

.

"What? You're the greatest!"

"Coming from the one guy who could always score on me?" She giggled, thinking back to the original Team USA, and the cute boy who somehow found it necessary to _apologize_ for being good.

.

As she stood there, surrounded by the clack of wingtips on tile, she could remember the way that he avoided her for the next two weeks, and the way that he'd stammer over his words anytime she came near. It wasn't until that day on the pier that he finally got up the courage to speak to her, and it still seemed like a minor miracle that he hadn't dove off to his death, just to avoid embarrassment.

.

At the other end of the line, Adam shook his head.

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?"

"Heh, you were pretty cute back then."

"Just back then?"

"Yeah, I mean, after that, I lost all interest in you." She joked, wishing that he were there to celebrate with her. That she could put her arms around him and not let go. "Never spoke to you again. Ever. No idea what ever became of you or anything."

"Well yeah." He agreed. "I'm glad you came to your senses on that one."

"Definitely."

.

For a moment, she thought about how he should be gearing up for his first NHL game at about this time; about the draft party that was supposed to happen.

She thought about the celebrations they were supposed to be having; the phone calls about penthouse apartments and decisions about whether he needed to trade his Porsche in for something even more fun.

And, of course, she also thought about the present reality. About the fact that while she'd be getting one last chance at hockey glory, he was having to re-learn how to brush his teeth and sit up with assistance.

.

"Seriously, I'm so proud of you! You're the greatest, Cat Lady."

.

And then she heard the joy in his voice as he congratulated _her_ , and the sadness began to melt away.

 _I just wish he were here to celebrate with me_.

* * *

"And the poor ones?" Connie asked Fulton, mindful of the fact that as well-meaning as he could be, Charlie had a knack for taking over conversations.

"Charlie gets the over-involved dads. I get the dads who don't exist."

"Can I donate a few of mine?" Charlie joked, taking another bite of sausage biscuit as he thought about how badly he'd like to donate Mr. Utlaut, a retired minor leaguer with huge ambitions and a son who could fit in a Polly Pocket.

 _Poor kid's going to need a growth spurt to ride the roller coaster at Mall of America_...

"Please do.

"I hate the empty halls at parent-teacher conference time. I get it. My mom couldn't go to that stuff, either. But I want more for them."

"That's tough."

"Yeah. It is."

"Well, I've got at least four that you're welcome to this season. Five if we end up nabbing Hanssen from Blake."

Fulton grew quiet for a moment.

.

People like Charlie had no _idea_ how tough it was.

At Eden Hall, you worried about where kids were going to go to college, and whether they'd be _happy_ in their gleaming office towers when they grew up. You worried that they'd grow up to be unsatisfied with their lives; forever trying to recover from the angst of adolescence. As some of their old classmates had proven, those weren't trivial concerns, but still.

At Terrence E. Baker, you worried that they wouldn't live to see high school.

.

"Seriously. It sucks." He shook his head, thinking of the families like the Moreaus and Avermans who'd sent their kids there thirty years earlier; families who didn't have the money for private school or the political clout to get district lines changed, but who provided _some_ kind of stable, middle-class presence. "Parts of the old neighborhood have gentrified, but every time one block gets cleaned up and I start to think 'Maybe this will at least get us a better mix; bring in some community involvement', the parents just send their kids to private school until the lines get redrawn. At least back in the day, we had a handful of solid neighborhoods. Now there's nothing."

Connie nodded.

"I was wondering how that had turned out.

"I remember when dad sold the house for half a million it seemed crazy." She continued, quietly. " _Nobody_ in our neighborhood had that kind of money back then. I always thought the Duncans were rich because their dad sold insurance and bought the family an above-ground pool."

"That was a _nice_ above-ground pool." Guy chuckled. "I was so jealous of that. I asked my mom if we could get one, and she looked at me like I'd asked if we could buy our own castle."

"Exactly! I remember that the first time I went over there, I was amazed, because they had like, matching furniture. I thought I was in a hotel lobby or something."

"Tonight on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, we tour the Duncan mansion." Averman joked, doing his best Robin Leech impersonation. "Boasting over 1,700 sq. feet of beige carpeting, you can feel the opulence when you sit down on the sofa, purchased _new_ from Haverty's Furniture just ten years ago."

"Venturing out onto the back veranda, we see a resort-like Oasis, complete with a swimming pool that is nearly five feet deep, accented by an elaborate plywood deck and not two but _three_ matching lawn chairs."

"Of course, no part of this opulent setup would be complete without Mrs. Duncan herself, sporting the very latest from the Dress Barn clearance rack. Today, we see her lounging by the pool in a purple pantsuit, made entirely from genuine polyester."

.

Goldberg laughed, thinking of the angst that had periodically consumed his early 30's.

.

Every year, even as the deli continued to grow, he'd look at his modest bungalow and aging Nissan Armada, wondering why he never could catch up to the successes of his wealthier peers' parents.

Then he happened to go through the old photo albums at his parents' house, and stumbled upon a picture from Tommy Duncan's eleventh birthday party.

They had a grocery store sheet cake, and in the background, a new kitchen backsplash that stopped halfway across the wall, courtesy of renovation job that ran out of money a few feet too soon.

.

"Not going to lie. I was _well_ into adulthood before I realized that there weren't any actual rich people in our neighborhood."

"Same."

"There weren't? Because at this point, owning my own house and an above-ground pool is starting to sound like the impossible dream."

* * *

September 11, 2001

"You still don't have me convinced."

"What? You've _been_ to Maine. Did it not seem pretty normal?"

"Yeah. _Maine_. Still no proof that the rest is real."

As the rest of the nation watched New York's towers fall, Julie came to realize that the Banks family might have put a bit more emphasis on hockey than geography; Adam calling to be sure that she was alright since 'New Hampshire and New York are pretty close together'.

.

When she joked with him that Breck's social studies department left something to be desired, she found herself drug back into their old mock debate about whether New England actually _existed,_ the familiarity a warm blanket amidst the world's chaos.

.

"So if they made up all of the places that aren't Maine, where am I?"

"You probably fell off the edge of the earth." He replied earnestly. "This isn't really you that I'm talking to at all-it's someone who _sounds_ like you. It's all part of the plan."

"The plan to lure midwesterners to their deaths?"

"Yup."

"How do you explain Florida?" Julie questioned, longing for his old dorm room back in Minnesota, and the feeling of being curled up together in his bed; of the way that with him, nothing ever changed, and good sweaters felt like enough to keep the world at bay.

 _None of this was supposed to happen_.

 _None of it._

"It's real. Like Maine." He smiled, lying in his bed alone. "But they're probably islands, kind of like Hawaii or something. So you have like, Bangor, and you have Palm Beach, and then you have the end of the world between them, and if people try to go to _those_ places, they'll fall off the planet."

"See. This? This is what you need to do." Julie laughed. "Educate people about how the east coast doesn't exist."

"So you're _admitting_ that this isn't really you! I knew it!"

"You got me."

"I'm a pretty good detective at these things."

"Yes you are."


End file.
